


Quickening

by NuMo



Series: The Road Ahead [3]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: AU, Crossover, Established Relationship, F/F, Post-Canon, Post-Endgame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-22
Updated: 2012-09-22
Packaged: 2017-11-14 19:55:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 63,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuMo/pseuds/NuMo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I try ending the holo-program. I try calling Q. </p><p>I try not to sound too insane.</p><p>A phrase crosses my mind, and turns around a few times and settles, just like a lazy cat looking for a place to take a nap. </p><p>A leap of faith.</p><hr/><p>Part Three of the <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/23850">"The Road Ahead"</a> Series. I strongly suggest you read the other two first. </p><p>I don't own Star Trek nor anything connected with it, but I do own my own characters. I'm not making any profit, although I hope to reap some feedback.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: for gaslighting/telepathic abuse/"mind rape", for this and the following chapters.

_You may be deceived if you trust too much, but you will live in torment if you do not trust enough._

* * *

I wake to the sound of my smartphone’s ringtone. I barely recognize it – hell, but I haven’t heard it in months. Or have I? I stumble through my apartment, cursing feet that don’t know their way through its dark any longer. My deputy asks me where I am, and I find a few curt words for her, about a fearsome headache, that aren’t too far off the mark. I do realize I sound terrible, and she doesn’t question me; sympathizes, instead, and tells me to take tomorrow off, too. I feel bad the moment I end the call.

Walking back to the bathroom on hall-light-aided autopilot, I stop short when I see the tangled mess of the shower curtain I left behind. Grimace when I realize that it is, somehow, more frightening than a spider was, in a different tub, in a different place. It locks me into place much more assuredly than the critter ever did, too – my feet, my eyes, hell, my _chest_ , won’t move for the longest time. I feel… numb. All over, like wrapped in cotton wool. 

I can’t have dreamt this. It’s been too real. And yet my own body feels strange to me, goddamnit. There’s gray in my hair, no ring on my finger, too much weight on my feet, too little ease in the t-shirt I’m wearing (and surely I can’t have imagined just how nice 24th century fabrics can feel?), too many memories flooding my mind.

Kathryn’s eyes, elated and radiant, meeting mine in front of a bridge screen showing Earth. Kathryn’s grin, smug and full of delight, filling my sight when she lifts her fingers from my eyes, a football stadium behind her. Ellie, telling me with a slightly dazed and incredibly delighted smile that she’d been accepted as ambassadorial aide to a woman with more titles to her name than other people have art on the wall. Gretchen’s voice, recounting how Kathryn never took kindly to losing, not as a five-year-old, much less as a teenager. Kathryn’s sweet frown of concentration over a PADD, flicking through a list or other with so familiar motions. Kathryn’s fingers, slipping a ring over mine. 

There’s no ring when I look down. Not even a line to say there ever has been one. And yet touching my thumb to the root of my finger and encountering only skin feels _wrong_ – muscle memory, I’m sure of it, but… 

What if there aren’t different timelines? Replicators, warp drives, omnipotent aliens. Starships and their captains. What if my memory of one of them loving me, marrying me, having our baby – what if all of that is something my vivid fantasy has dreamed up? It does sound fantastic, after all, doesn’t it?

I grit my teeth until they ache. I don’t want it to be a dream. _This_ must be the dream. Or a hallucination, or a telepathic implantation, or something. Anything, really. My feet carry me through my apartment and slowly find their confidence again; my eyes, behind glasses, take in familiar things, books, CDs, pictures on the wall. Things I’ve longed for for months, never thinking I’d see them again this way, and that thought almost makes me vomit. In every story, in every fairytale, they tell you to be careful what you wish for, after all. But which is the fairytale?

The LED of my smartphone, flashing silently, draws my eyes. Another message from Ellie, another wail of heartbrokenness. This time, I answer. I’m her best friend, and she needs me. 

~~~

Days pass. I try everything. I try the Drillerpiffe protocol, and find out that my phone doesn’t know it. I try reconfiguring it, and my laptop, to the modulations Kathryn had tried (or as much as I remember of them, after all these months). I try finding the place where she’d said she’d crossed over into my universe, not that she’d recalled it too well herself, wet and dark as that night had been. I try ending the holo-program. I try calling Q. 

I try not to sound too insane.

I try to evade the questions of my colleagues when I return to work. 

I try to talk German instead of English.

I try not to evade Ellie.

I try so very, very hard to hear seagulls.

But Cologne is a river city, so of course there are gulls, right? So even if I heard them, it would be a perfectly commonplace occurrence, right? So why does the air taste wrong? Too thick with exhaust fume, too loud with combustion engines, every time I step out the door?

I try not to think of myself as insane. I don’t think I’m fooling my colleagues, insisting that I’m alright after those first two days of sick leave. I do think I’m throwing sand in Ellie’s eyes, not that it takes much, being taken up with herself that she is, and I hate that I think this way, but I hurt, I hurt so much, and I want someone to tell me it’s going to be alright, too, the way I tell her, but there’s no one I can ask, is there? 

Of course I don’t talk to my parents. And the idea of calling Opa Leo makes me bite my thumb once more.

No – I spend my days working until my eyelids droop, attacking the paperwork with mindless ferocity, glad, for the first time, that I can delegate the counseling, glad that my colleagues readily accept that I do so – I did say I don’t think I’m fooling them, right? I write uplifting, or commiserating, or condemning messages to my best friend whenever I remember to do so, and try to ignore how they twist the knife in my own heart. Then I spend the evening cooking something that tastes like ashes when I remember who I’m not eating it with, and spend the night trying to find sleep without dreaming of…

Heavens help me. 

Every single night, as soon as I turn off the lights, I can’t fend off the thoughts of her, much as I try to. It works over the day, after a fashion, but at night… she’s there, and I can’t get away, and part of me doesn’t want to. Part of me relishes seeing her, even if it’s not real, even if it maybe never was. But it feels so real, to remember her. Kathryn. The glory of her voice, in all its nuances. The startling suddenness when she laughs, and the way her face changes when she does, and my ambition to make her. The way she unconsciously caresses the pages of the books she reads. The feel of her skin on mine. Her love for me, that day Althea…

I see her every time I close my eyes, and worryingly often when they’re wide open. 

Kathryn. Standing in a doorway in oversized pyjamas, on one foot and with hair wet from a storm and a shower. Standing in a doorway, naked but for a ring on her right, a ring I put there a few hours earlier. Standing in a doorway, robe falling open to reveal the bulge that is our unborn daughter. Standing in a doorway in her admiral’s uniform, exhaustion and worry in her eyes, reaching out for me and never minding how I start to bawl. 

Everything I see reminds me of her. I hate to walk by my workplace’s kitchenette because it always smells of coffee there. I hate returning to my apartment, knowing it’ll be empty when I open the door. I drift along streets where I’ve never been with her, but sometimes a graffiti artist has been there before me, and I can’t stand to see his name tag, now that I know who Kes was, now that I’ve seen her face in files and pictures (but have I?).

I stand in front of Cologne Cathedral’s tower, trying to find solace in touching its somber, stony beauty, trying not to think of the last time I remember being here, nor of what I remember reading about it. I debate going up, but find I can’t move my feet. And all the stone angels, saints and football players only watch my tears, and never help. One or two people stop to ask me if I’m alright, but I wave them away.

I cry a lot, and at the silliest things. I can’t even dive into my books, because I keep hearing the words in Kathryn’s voice.

And damn me if I know which way to go. I want to wake up from this dream, but maybe I am already awake. It does sound too good to be true, doesn’t it? To be loved that way? To live in a future where Earth doesn’t know poverty anymore, where you can visit other planets in starships, where you can have a baby with the woman you love? Who wouldn’t dream up something like that?

I did have flights of fancy before. Daydreaming? Hell yes, I’ve been there, and back again, too. But these memories don’t feel like dreaming, or even daydreaming, and yet there is, except for that waning sense of wrongness, not a single clue, not a single sign to determine what’s real and what’s not. Damn if I know which it is. 

Comes the day when I can’t put off seeing Ellie any longer. I’m on my way to her, in fact, when my phone beeps with an incoming message and my heart stops beating. That wasn’t my usual message signal. That was _Voyager’s_. I whip it out, stare at it as if expecting LCARS to appear on its black lock screen. Instead, another message comes in, with the usual two-tone bing-bong, plain and ordinary, mocking my sudden hope, nurturing darker theories. 

Julia, asking me if I’m free to see Ellie tomorrow, too, because something’s come up and Julia can’t.

Ellie, telling me she’ll run a little late because she needs to do some grocery shopping. 

Mundane as anything, and yet my fingers don’t stop shaking when I tap in my replies. 

“What’s wrong?” Ellie asks me when I meet her in front of the supermarket. 

“Nothing,” I reply, and proceed to ask her about her state of mind, to take said mind off the state of mine. I’m her pillar of strength, after all, and she needs me. When she sends me on my way four and a half hours later, she hasn’t asked again, and I walk home, hands balled in my pockets, eyes fixed on the street, refuting memories of what Kathryn and I talked about when we went this way. Once home, I sit down at my table, hands still in fists and on it, trying to ignore the sort of clutter Kathryn would tease me about, trying to think rationally about this madness. 

I’ve never heard of anything like this happening. _Read_ , yes. Good grief, my bookshelves are full of it. But that’s just it, isn’t it? Fiction. Not real. But what I remember _feels_ real, even if the memories of the time just before this nightmare started are blurred. I went with Kathryn to that holo-ship, didn’t I, and carried her through Jefferies tubes to a medkit? Didn’t I? I shake my head at the haziness of it, and find that, the farther I go back, the clearer the memories get. Having my eyes fixed, no matter how much I need my glasses now. Learning about sensors from Tom, and puking at Althea’s flight maneuvers. Kathryn coming to get me. Depression – why the hell would I dream up something like that? 

So what could this be? Which is the dream? This, or that? It could be possible, I suppose, for this, the return to my old apartment, to my old life, to be just as much illusion as Captain Shelby telling me Kathryn’s dead. Or Kathryn telling me she was swapped for a holographic impersonator and never married me. But how, and why? It would explain the seagulls I heard in those other… scenarios, if Althea was somehow in on it; if she was somehow trying to get through to me, wherever I am. But why would she subject me to something like this, if this is her doing? I always thought of her as a friend?

Then again, it’s so easy to just slip back into my home, my apartment, my job, my friendship with Ellie and the girls. Everything is as I left it, after all. And it’s the responsible, the sensible thing to do, isn’t it? 

An image comes to my mind, out of the depths of doubt. A scene, rather, from one of my beloved books. An infinitude of mirrors, cracking; myriad reflections of the person between the mirrors, and the need to choose the real one, the person that’s not a mirror image. Oh I wish it were as easy as looking down at myself and saying ‘this one’. It’s not, is it?

It’s all in the mind, Althea’s words come back to me, suddenly. So. What is in my mind? Easy, that. Happiness, when I think of all that’s happened in that other universe, if that’s what it was. Not perfect bliss, certainly, but happiness, and love, and friendship. Challenges, and marvels, and tears, and laughter. Growing, and an outstretched hand – several outstretched hands, to help me do so. But then – life here is all that, too. There’s happiness here for me, if not right now. And friendship, and laughter, and helping hands. And I never was depressed here, was I? My mind feels numb again as I stare at the wooden table-top, run my fingers across the edge that feels so familiar. 

I don’t want these memories to have been a dream. I think of them as ‘things that have happened’, not ‘something I’ve dreamed’, even after almost a week of trying to decide whether I’m going mad to think like this. However real this looks, and feels, it might not be, and my thoughts are turning circles. There’s simply no way of telling, and certainly no way of knowing what to trust, mirror or no. 

Please, world, give me another clue, would you? 

And if I get one? Then what? Jump from my balcony? I laugh, once, a silly little giggle without much humor in it. And if not? A phrase crosses my mind, and turns around a few times and settles, just like a lazy cat looking for a place to take a nap. 

A leap of faith. 

A leap of faith, from this world to the next, whatever the next might be. Any of the three I’ve visited, or the one I think of as the ‘original one’, or maybe another one entirely? Or The End, if I’m mistaken. And that’s the problem, isn’t it. I don’t want to die, after all, and I certainly won’t survive that jump, high up as my apartment is. I’m not that heartbroken. 

“Yes to pain…” I can’t help but wonder about the shape of my heart, battered as it feels. Pulling at it from one side – my desire to get back to where I feel I was finally arriving, courtesy of my wife coming to bring me along with her. Tugging at it from another – the life I’ve known all my life, and my best friend, hurting, needing me. Or does she? I’ve seen her come through, after all. She might do so again, but if I’m wrong, if I take that leap and… _Face it, Marie Vey. If you’re wrong, you’re dead._ And I have no idea how she would take that. 

Selfish. Selfish, to think my death might hurt her that much. Selfish, to think about assuaging my own needs, rather than be there for hers. Then again, isn’t that just what I’ve been beating myself up about, only a few weeks ago? Responsibility to myself, I’ve told Kathryn, even longer ago. I do have that. Then again, suicide certainly isn’t responsible. 

Good grief. To think I wanted to think rationally about this all. Maybe I’m just too tired. Maybe I should just go to bed. Maybe I’ll dream something nice.

Or maybe I won’t. I wake, my heart racing, the horrible image of the ugliest alien I ever saw burning into my eyeballs. Where did he come from, or she? It? A face covered in spikes, and orange-brown skin, and evilness. But that hadn’t been the worst part. The worst part had been when it had opened its mouth, and told me, in my Kathryn’s voice, that it was all in the mind. 

Whose, goddamnit?


	2. Chapter 2

“Anything new?” 

Today it’s the Doctor who’s looking up at her with stoic eyes. He’s taking turns with Kalliste, caring for sickbay’s most worrisome patient whenever the healer isn’t immersed in cleaning _Voyager’s_ systems. “I’m afraid not, Admiral.” He follows Kathryn to the chair that’s been put up next to Marie’s bed, tsking when he sees her stifle a yawn. “You should be getting rest, you know.”

“Doctor, you know I can’t…” she doesn’t even need to say what she can’t. Stay away? Return to her, _their_ quarters? Stare sleeplessly at the addition that’s going to be their daughter’s nursery? Lie in her own bed while Marie’s under surveillance in sickbay?

“I know,” he says quietly. “Would you mind me taking a few readings? I want to make sure all this stress isn’t harming you.” 

Kathryn waves her hand in tired acceptance, and he takes out his tricorder. “You know, Doctor, when the two of you said you had secured _Voyager_ , I never would have thought we’d have to fight every single subroutine of her programming just to get going again.” She rubs the side of her face and closes her eyes to shut out his expression at her words. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean it that way. You had no way of preventing this, I do know that. I just… I hadn’t thought it possible that anyone could corrupt _Voyager’s_ systems to such a degree, in such a short time. I marvel that we managed to defeat those three ships, small as they’ve been, and that wouldn’t have been possible without the ECH on the bridge. So, please – no offense meant,” Kathryn repeats, opening her eyes at the sound of his tricorder snapping shut. 

“None taken, Admiral. Tell me, though, how much sleep have you been getting lately?”

She does find the energy to raise her eyebrows, somewhere. “Four hours, sometimes five. At least that’s the time I spend in my quarters. Can’t say that I’ve been sleeping that long.”

“Well, now. Nothing new there,” he says, his eyes pulling the barb of the statement. “You might want to consider something to help you sleep.”

”I know I’m needed at full capacity in the recovery effort, if that’s what you mean.” She knows it isn’t, and again, his eyes convey the message eloquently. Enough so, in fact, to make her avert hers. Not enough strength left for this any longer, nor for irony. “I’ll manage, Doctor,” Kathryn goes on quietly. “Just let me… let me be here, for a while. I’ll go straight to bed afterwards, but I…” Her voice drops away entirely. 

“Very well, Admiral. I shall give you some privacy, then.” He looks as if he’s debating with himself, then… Kathryn bites the inside of her cheek when his hand covers her shoulder briefly. At least he doesn’t say anything. He must have seen her eyes fill, but his departure is discreet enough. 

“Marie…” He had said that coma patients could sometimes hear what was going on around them. If this is a coma. Neither he nor Kalliste are in any way certain of that. Still, Althea had concurred, it wouldn’t hurt. So, like every evening in the last four days, Kathryn takes Marie’s hand in her own, stroking the knuckles with her thumb. “Today has been pretty much the same as the last days, I’m afraid. We finally managed to get the navigational systems online again, and the sensor arrays to let us know where we fly to. Which means that now we only need to figure out how to power up the warp engine without blowing us all into kingdom come.” 

Kathryn sighs. At least replicators and life support hadn’t been tampered with, nor the ability to target and fire (and thanks heavens for that), but every other main system had been trapped, bugged, rigged, in ways that mystified everyone. If it hadn’t been for Kalliste’s ability to link with _Voyager’s_ computer, they wouldn’t even be here anymore – the healer had averted several self-destruct flags going off by detecting them beforehand, highlighting the programming on console readouts to allow every engineer aboard to work on disabling them. 

“We don’t even know where to go to, though, once we have propulsion back. So any input you have on the matter would be greatly appreciated.” No reply. Of course not. No joke about stopping along the way to ask directions, no sudden inspiration from out of the far field. “Althea should be coming down any minute now, to try and reach you again,” Kathryn goes on. “I… God, Marie.” A tear taps onto the standard issue sickbay sheets. “Wake up. I don’t know if you can even hear me, but _please_ wake up.” _Go, Janeway, before you fall apart._ She presses a kiss onto limp fingers, and turns and rises in a motion that’s stiff with fatigue. 

“Healer,” she acknowledges, seeing Kalliste enter sickbay, and runs a weary hand across her face again, more to soothe her eyes than to hide the tears. It’s not as if the healer didn’t know, empathic as she is.

“Kathryn.” The sound of Althea’s voice stops her, just this side of sickbay’s door trigger. There are times when Kathryn wonders whether it has been sensible to invite her first officer and second doctor to call her by her given name. Doctor’s orders, she can ignore or countermand. The worry of a friend, though… Kathryn turns to face it. “Still no changes?”

“No.” Kathryn has asked this before, but… “You’re sure there’s nothing more I can do for her?” 

Althea sighs, not exasperated, but commiserating. “I’m afraid not, Kathryn. She has to find the way out of this by herself. I was so certain that linking the two of you would help, but…”

Kathryn shudders at the memory of Marie’s raw fear rushing through her, and of how every sensor of the biobed had seemed to go wild – even those that had monitored the baby. Her fingernails bite into her palms. “Goddamnit, Althea, there’s got to be…” But, no matter how sharply she pushes her chin forwards, the healer’s eyes don’t change.

“I am sorry, Kathryn. I’ll go on trying, and if there’s any reaction, I’ll let you know immediately. I’ll drop by afterwards to help you sleep – stow your protests, Admiral, I don’t give a hoot.” A grin flicks over Althea’s face, lighting up eyes that look just about as tired as Kathryn feels. “You’re keeping me awake right through the bulkheads. We both need our sleep.”

~~~

“When I agreed to let you help me sleep, Commander, I didn’t expect you to put me out for half a day,” Kathryn grates when she arrives in Engineering around noon of the next day, finding the healer and B’Elanna in front of a console. 

“Ten hours, Admiral,” Althea corrects her, almost cheerfully, doing nothing for her CO’s mood. “You needed it, Baby Janeway needed it. Tonight, too.”

“You can’t be serious!” The discarded report PADD distracts her, though. Kathryn scrolls through the check list and suppresses an impressed nod. There’s considerable progress since she last clapped eyes on this, and of course her flash of satisfaction doesn’t go unnoticed. 

The sparkle in Althea’s eyes is almost irritating, in fact. “I could always make it twelve, you know.”

“We’ll talk about that when we get there, Healer,” Kathryn offers. Good thing it’s only B’Elanna who’s within earshot. Or isn’t it? Those brown, half-Klingon eyes dance very merrily when they meet Kathryn’s, at any rate. “Tactical retreat, Lieutenant,” Kathryn informs her primly. “They can be necessary.”

“And very smoothly executed, too, Admiral,” B’Elanna replies without missing a beat. “We’re almost done here, as it is; give us another hour and we’re back in the game.”

“That’s the best news I had in days, Lieutenant. Good job, all of you,” Kathryn raises her voice to include the rest of the Engineering crew. Then she turns to Althea and B’Elanna again. “If the two of you don’t need me, I’ll be on the bridge.”

“If you give me a minute, I’ll walk you there, Admiral. B’Elanna, there’s still that glitch in the secondary power couplings we’ve talked about; looks minor but…”

“You’re right, Commander. I’ll make sure it’s gone before we start.”

“I’ll be back down to help bring the warp core online if you want me?” 

B’Elanna nods, and responds with another question about one of the EPS manifolds or something along those lines. Kathryn overhears their exchange from where she stands, already half-turned towards the door. She’d long since resolved that it was a good idea to have taken on Deanna Troi as a first officer, but in the last five days she’s become convinced that it was a blessed stroke of luck that the package included the half-Betazoid’s wife. 

She’s never felt comfortable with mind melds, but that day when Althea Kalliste took _Voyager’s_ chief engineer and commanding officer right into the ship’s systems… Kathryn shakes her head slowly. She’s always felt close to _Voyager_. Closer than to any other ship she’s ever served on or commanded. Close enough to talk to it, right? And no surprise either, after seven years of caring for it, depending on it, entrusting her life and those of her crew to it. But now she understands why sailors of old called a ship ‘she’, and thought of it as an extension of their bodies. 

It is. _She_ is. _Voyager_ is as much of a life thing as Kathryn had ever, in the depth of night, felt her to be. Oh, no awareness, surely, but… internal sensors to tell her computer core when something isn’t as it should be. Bio-neural circuitry, and the most advanced algorithms to keep up with it, to process all the data that her Starfleet and Borg-enhanced sensors pick up. Countless autonomous subsystems to let things run smoothly. _Small wonder Section 31 wants her._ And a small miracle that they’d managed to plant as many bugs and overrides as they had. 

Kathryn had seen them, when her thoughts had flowed through _Voyager’s_ circuitry alongside Althea’s consciousness. She and B’Elanna had been along for their expertise about what the healer was seeing, for want of a better word – for all her ability to permeate those systems, Althea hadn’t got a clue about how they worked. What a revelation it had been. Even the familiar Starfleet programming had been amazing to behold like this. But beyond it, Kathryn had marveled at recognizing sparse, efficient protocols of Seven’s, patches of B’Elanna’s hasty overrides, ages old in places, new and chillingly recognizable in others. She’d seen streamlined, elegant routines of Vorik’s ( _I never knew the man was such an artist in his work._ Kathryn’s comment had earned a burst of amused pride/embarrassment/resolve from B’Elanna), and ingenious and convoluted ones of Icheb’s, no less beautiful than Vorik’s, if in a completely different way. 

And between them, bumps and leeches and scuttling spiders, and flags. Neither of them had recognized the first flag for what it had been, and the resultant self-destruct sequence when their re-programming had set it off had been averted with eight seconds to spare. Afterwards, they’d been far more careful, which meant far slower going, but here they were, now, only an hour away from regaining near-full control of _Voyager_ again. 

“Bridge to Admiral Janeway,” Troi’s pleasant voice sounds out, and Kathryn taps her combadge.

“Go ahead, Commander.”

“There’s an incoming transmission that’s being rerouted to my quarters. It’s heavily encrypted, and we wouldn’t even have known about it if we hadn’t regained the comm. system this morning. I’d say it’s for our impostors.”

“I agree. The healer and I are on our way up from engineering; we’ll take it in your quarters and see what we can make of it. Janeway out.” _Well._ She breathes out. “Healer-”

“I heard. Let’s go.” They move down the corridor quickly enough to make an ensign and a lieutenant stand aside, and it irks Kathryn that after two months aboard (and three, before that, of reviewing CVs), she still can’t put names to some faces.

“Lieutenant Mor takh B’vhan, and Ensign Cobb,” Althea supplies. “I had my difficulties, too. Only I have an advantage, right?” Her grin is every bit as irreverent as Marie’s can be. “A message, eh?”

“I’m as curious as you are,” Kathryn agrees, ordering the turbolift to deck three. “Might give us an insight as to what the conspiracy has been about. You take a ship, you want to _do_ something with it. Hopefully we’ll find out about that part now.”

“If I can access the message and don’t give the whole thing away with some blundered reply.”

Kathryn raises an eyebrow. “What makes you think it’s addressed to your impostor rather than mine, Commander?” 

“Well, it is going to our quarters, not yours. So I daresay my impostor might have been the one in charge, quite apart from things like rank.” Althea sighs. “Too bad we didn’t manage to get one of them off the holo-ship.” Kathryn’s other eyebrow comes up too, and is greeted by a grin. “On top of you, that is.”

For all the appreciation Kathryn feels towards Althea for trying to lighten the situation, the memory cuts too deep. “You still think that’s what caused…”

“Marie chose wrong, Kathryn.” Althea’s voice is gentle. “Your life, and the life of your daughter hinged on it, and she chose wrong. Anyone would have difficulties coming to terms with that, and she hasn’t been her Sunday best before that. The mind is a curious thing… fragile, resilient, unpredictable. And who knows if that Lethean has managed to get to her before we beamed out? She’s trying, Kathryn. She’s fighting, and she’ll come back to you, I don’t doubt that.”

“Well, at least one of us doesn’t,” Kathryn whispers, then draws herself up when the doors open on deck three. “No more of this, Healer, please.”

“Of course, Admiral.”

The screen in the Troi quarters is dark, and Kathryn holds up a hand before Althea can plunge, once again, into _Voyager’s_ systems. “Maybe we should meld again, Healer. To ward off blundered replies.”

“True,” Althea agrees readily, even shrugs while she does so. “Stay on the other side of the table, though. Chances are it’s a two-way transmission, and if my impersonator has been the CO of this mission-”

“Quite alright, Commander. I’ll pull up a chair, though, if I may.” Somersaults. Kathryn is certain of it. Her tenant is doing somersaults, and with gusto.

“By all means.” Althea’s hand comes to rest at the edge of the table-top monitor, out of sight of the small, built-in camera, and Kathryn takes it once she’s in her chair. A few moments later, Baby Janeway grows quieter, and her mother’s eyebrows practically shoot towards her hairline. Althea gives her a quick smile, then concentrates on the screen. Her awareness tugs at the edges of Kathryn’s, and by now, slipping into that particular meld is an easy thing, even though the feeling of looking through someone else’s eyes is still disconcerting, and seeing her own face even more so. Kathryn hastily closes her own eyes – the doubled view is making her dizzy.

 _Hermes and Athena help me, these encryptions_ are _convoluted, aren’t they?_ Althea’s thoughts are droll and intensely focused at the same time, already at work on getting the message on the screen. 

_I certainly agree,_ Kathryn answers, then points out a particular bit of code. _That looks like-_

_Got you. Here goes._

“Your report is late, Commander.” Good thing Kathryn is only a passenger, as it were. It keeps her shock from Althea’s face, and that is certainly required. _That’s Theo Patterson’s aide!_ Kathryn’s thoughts jump ahead, make connections, concoct hypotheses, assemble theories.

 _I recognize him._ “I’m sorry, Commander; we had a few difficulties in the last week,” the healer answers out loud.

“This is unacceptable. We dispatched three back-up ships to help you fight off Janeway in that little yacht, surely that was enough.”

“Barely.” Althea’s voice is as calm as her face, but Kathryn knows she’s desperately searching for something to give by way of explanation. She sends a notion over. 

_Thanks._ “Somehow the EMH left us a gift before we got him off the ship,” the healer continues. “He sabotaged quite a few of our systems; propulsion, scanners, navigation, the comm. system… frankly, we have our hands full getting our own improvements to work. It’s a good thing you called us, in fact, because we haven’t quite gotten our bearings yet – can you, by any chance, read where we are?” 

_Smooth, Healer._

_Thanks, Admiral._ Althea’s thought is as dry as Kathryn’s has been.

The commander on the screen obviously doesn’t think so. _Beckett. He’s called Beckett,_ Kathryn suddenly remembers, watching him punch some controls with a dark look in his eyes. “We can’t,” he says coldly, “not that that’s unexpected. Your orders were to head for home base, after all, and that’s the opposite direction from here.”

Althea matches his tone easily. “Well, as it is, sir, I can’t tell you when we’ll get there, either. Warp drive’s still offline, and as I said, without knowing where we are there’s no point in going anywhere, is there.”

“I’ll dispatch a ship to your last known coordinates. Expect them in three days’ time, and do try to get _Voyager_ up and running until they get to you; they’ll have further orders. What’s your status, otherwise?”

“We’re working on the repairs and on implementing the necessary changes,” Althea replies, on Kathryn’s prompt. “It’s difficult; we have to keep most of what we need to do hidden from the rest of the crew, after all.”

“What?! You were supposed to leave them on the holo-ship!”

“And have them blow up?” Althea flares up, too. “I might be many things, Commander, but I’m not a murderer. And we need the manpower to run the ship, after your back-up troops got themselves killed. You _are_ aware of how many hands a ship like this needs.” Icy acid in those last words. _Good acting, Commander._ A flash of amusement answers Kathryn’s comment.

Beckett smiles, quite without humor. “Quite. You’ll have to dispose of them at home base, then.” He cuts the transmission without a goodbye. 

~~~

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Kathryn calls the briefing to order, “we have interesting news.” She watches her officers’ faces as the conversation replays on the briefing room’s monitor. 

Commander Troi, calming the room by sheer presence, as usual. Lieutenant Commander Thlinn ch’Vlossen, going by the name of Flo to those who can’t wrap their throats around his prefix, head of security and Kathryn’s third-in-command; a sixty-six year-old Andorian with a cool head and, apart from his other redeeming qualities, a penchant for dancing that has proved quite an asset on the last few trips. Kathryn’s head of ops, Lieutenant Veral Daurannen, an Andaran of thirty-two years, burning with ambition like most of her race, and still finding her way of dealing with coming ‘second-best’ – she had aimed for a posting on the _Enterprise_ , after all. The Doctor, intently concentrated and no longer disputing Lieutenant Commander Kalliste’s presence. The healer next to him, eyes almost closed as she sifts through the conversation once more. And Tom and B’Elanna, of course. No dedicated Astrometrics officer – not a deep space mission, after all. No representative of the diplomats assigned to the Arcadian mission, either; this is purely ship’s business, and classified, at that. 

“In short, I’d say we managed to fool him,” Kathryn says as the message winks out. “We’ll have to fool the people who’ll come for us, too, but if we pull that off, we might get to the bottom of this, and that, ladies and gentlemen, is where I want to go.” Agreement on every face, when her officers meet Kathryn’s eyes. “B’Elanna, the warp core?”

“Ready to bring online, Admiral. We were about to do so when you called this briefing, in fact.”

“Good news, and good job, Lieutenant. How about the other systems, Lieutenant Daurannen?”

“All primary systems and ninety-five percent of the secondary ones are purged, and more than two thirds of the back-ups are clear as well. We’ll be finished by this time tomorrow if we don’t run into something unexpected.” The lieutenant’s voice is venomous on the last word, as if sudden trouble was a personal affront. Then again, it’s why she’s head of the department, isn’t it? Despite her occasional crusades, she’s proven a mastermind at streamlining and optimizing operation processes, and even though especially _Voyager’s_ old hands had a few issues with doing things her way, Kathryn can’t dispute that the changes the Lieutenant had implemented have, so far, worked out well. 

“Well done, Lieutenant. Commander, how are things in security?”

“Satisfactory.” ch’Vlossen’s smooth bass is reassuring. “All security protocols have been restored and/or upgraded, and the crew has adapted well to the new standards. It’s unfortunate that we didn’t manage to get our hands on one of the modified emitters, though; nevertheless, with the Doctor’s help,” he nods towards _Voyager’s_ CMO, who, predictably, beams widely, “Mister Paris and I have adapted internal sensors to take readings that we think will alert us if Section 31 tries something like this again. But, until that happens and it works, there’s no way of telling.”

“What I can’t believe,” Tom speaks up when it becomes apparent that ch’Vlossen’s finished, “is that they have someone that high up in the Shipyards. That was Jonah Beckett! I worked with him every day; he’s Patterson’s right-hand man! I mean, it does explain how they managed to get so deeply into the systems so quickly, but it does make you wonder, doesn’t it, who else is involved of all the engineers and programmers working there.”

“I agree, Admiral,” B’Elanna nods. “Why didn’t we see this? They must have put these things in place during the refit, or even before – those two doppelgangers can’t have done it on their own.”

“Well, it would make sense to have someone in place in the Yards,” ch’Vlossen muses. “If I wanted to get my hands on _Voyager_ , that’s where I would wait. And seeing how long _Voyager_ was there, I don’t think they needed too many people working on it. Just a handful to upload pre-programmed malware, and adapt it to work with _Voyager’s_ systems, I’d say.” He pauses, weighing his head. “Still, it’s… disquieting, that all of this was even possible.”

“We have to assume that this conspiracy – and I think calling it that is warranted by now – extends quite a ways into Starfleet.” Rising from her chair and stepping around it to grip its backrest, Kathryn takes ch’Vlossen’s thought the obvious step further, not quite unconscious of how her rolling her hips evokes several smiles, even if her officers are hiding them more or less well. “We encountered two Defiant-class ships with cloaks,” she elaborates, ignoring them _and_ the backache, “three auxiliary vessels with Starfleet warp signatures, the most sophisticated holo-ship I’ve ever seen…Those ships must have come from somewhere. And at least two of them were self-destructed deliberately, to keep their secrets. I’d say what it boils down to is that, same as in the Delta Quadrant, we’re on our own for the time being. We can’t be certain whom to contact in Starfleet, or over which channels, so we’ll continue to keep comm. silence.

“I plan to play along for as long as we can, see what there is to learn about this conspiracy. What we’ve experienced so far goes against everything I know of Starfleet and Federation principles, and I want to put a stop to it. However, I need a crew that stands behind me, knowing what’s at stake, knowing the risks. I can’t afford to consider personal doubts or mistrust or hesitation once we’re on this mission. So if anyone has any misgivings, speak up.”

The room is quiet for a moment – no one speaks, but tension runs high, changes, settles. 

“Cap-, uh, Admiral,” Tom grins at his own mistake, and everyone, including Kathryn, chuckles. “Well, don’t blame me – it was you who started reminiscing about the good old Delta Quadrant times, right?” Then he grows serious again. “I just wanted to tell you that… we’re with you, all the way.”

“We’ll even keep an eye on the diplomats,” ch’Vlossen adds, and Kathryn silently curses herself for forgetting. “Don’t worry, Ambassadors Denning and Sareenottek are experienced with Starfleet procedures, and our two negotiators have already agreed not to venture outside their quarters too much.” His left antenna quirks – by now, Kathryn knows that to be his way of adding irony to a statement. “And Lieutenants Wildman and Raual are refreshing the children’s knowledge of emergency protocols, too.”

“Sounds like we’re as ready as we can be,” Kathryn summarizes, adding her own irony with an eyebrow. “Which is a shame, really, because whoever’s coming to us will encounter a limping, barely functional ship in three days’ time.”

“From what Beckett said we can extrapolate that they’re not interested in _Voyager’s_ crew, only in the ship itself. We should prepare for that,” Troi puts forth quietly. 

“Exactly, and that’s why I don’t want them to know how many people are on board, or where they are,” Kathryn answers. “We’ll declare part of our people casualties, and they’ll hide until we need them. That way, even if Section 31 agents come aboard to man the stations, we can run the ship around them, or overrun them by surprise if we have to.”

“Dampening fields in the interior cabins on decks seven and eight,” B’Elanna nods instantly, “people would have access to all the important parts and systems quickly enough via the Jefferies tubes, and we could use the deuterium tanks as an excuse, saying we got them barely stable. I can set up a workstation in the computer access room, too, one that monitors the correct readings and can tie into bridge and engineering consoles – or not, as the case might be.”

“A sham – good thinking, Lieutenant; do it. Flo, you help her. Lieutenant Daurannen, you’ll prepare the consoles. Think of a way to switch them from one status to the other without risking detection, too. Doctor, Tom, I want you to continue working on ways to make any holograms walking around my ship detectable to our sensors, and shut them off – Miss Daurannen, you’ll be needed on that task as well when you’re done, as you will be, Commander.” She nods to ch’Vlossen and he tilts his head, his gesture as close to that of a certain dark-skinned Vulcan as an Andorian can make it. It makes her smile, and that makes her wonder if he hasn’t done it on purpose. He might. Forty-one years in Starfleet have made him quite the expert on the behavior of a variety of species, including Humans, he’d said in his interview, after all.

“And Commander,” she continues, turning towards Troi, “we need to decide who’s going to be our casualties, and devise new shift rotes to accommodate for their absence. And explain things to the ambassadorial staff, too.” She stifles a groan at another stab of back pain. Stifles her hunger, too, and tries to ignore… _If I’d known all this, would I have gone through with getting pregnant at all?_ “That would be all. Dismissed.”

Troi stays behind, though, while the others file out. 

“I know what you’re going to say, Commander,” but apparently, not even Kathryn’s raised hands can deter that patient black gaze. 

“Taken a page out of my mother’s book lately?” Troi smiles amiably.

“I don’t need rest. I might need a bathroom break and a snack, but apart from that-” 

“Apart from that, you need to look after yourself. You know the level of stress you’ve been under lately. I know you didn’t expect this mission to turn into a… a penny novel, with distrust and deceit at every turn, when you decided to have a baby with your wife.” Deanna does ‘inexorable’ incredibly well, and suddenly, Kathryn feels her tiredness impact, leaden and cottony, in her eyelids, her fingers, her head. And the chair beckons so invitingly… She decides to give in to that, at least. She can’t withstand both a chair and an empathic ex-counselor XO.

“Granted, but-” 

“You’re pregnant, Kathryn. That’s not something you can power through just on will alone.”

“I can try, can’t I?” _Don’t plead, damnit! Get a grip and move on, Janeway._

“No one expects you to put your feet up, Admiral, but – the tasks you assigned just now don’t need your attention, not even-” Deanna doesn’t raise her voice, yet her words cut through Kathryn’s admittedly feeble protests easily, “-not even crew assignments and rosters. That’s a first officer’s job if I ever heard one, and I can inform the ambassadors just as well as you can.” With a patient smile, she adds, “and I can sense how exhausted you are. There’s no use denying, you know.”

“I won’t, then.” Kathryn leans back as far as the chair allows, and inhales deeply. “But put yourself in my position, Commander – my ship’s been abducted and corrupted, and we’re in the middle of a conspiracy and have no idea how widespread it is nor what its intentions are. I can’t just take a break and fool around on the holodeck or something.”

“And I’m not saying you should. All I’m suggesting is that you make use of the time that’s on your hands right now, to do things you might not have time for once the other ship gets here, or something else comes up.”

“Like what?”

“Like relaxing. Like taking care of your emotional needs. Like seeing your wife, not only for five minutes between duty shift and sleeping, but for longer, to read to her again, or just to be with her. Like sleeping, even – Althea tells me she’s ready to help you with that again, if you need her to.”

“It seems there’s a conspiracy within this conspiracy,” Kathryn grates. 

“Of course,” Deanna admits with a shrug and another smile. “And your whole crew is in on it. We don’t just follow your orders, Admiral. We follow _you_. We follow your pregnancy, too, and we care for you. Do you have any idea how many hearts ache for you at the moment? And not just of those who’ve seen you and Marie together. Your baby will be a _Voyager_ baby just as Miral and Naomi are, every single person on this ship thinks so.”

“A _Voyager_ baby?” Kathryn says weakly, and Deanna’s smile grows into a happy grin.

“Of course. Tom has at least six pools running that I know of, and people have been eyeballing me for weeks, as if telling me to take over more of your duties, even before all of this started. This crew cares for you, Admiral. And for Marie, too. I have a box full of get-well cards for her, did you know that?”

“I didn’t.” Damned Betazoid. She’s got to know that Kathryn’s close to tears, and does it stop her? Get-well cards? Aching hearts?

“I asked the Doctor not to put them on display in sickbay, but to pass them on to me instead. I figured that they would have upset you, in the beginning. I might have misjudged. If so, I’m sorry, and I can bring them to your quarters tonight.”

“I… don’t know, to tell you the truth, Deanna.” Kathryn falls into silence, and Deanna doesn’t break it. And though her eyes are firmly on the table, Kathryn can feel Deanna’s eyes on her face as if she were the one with extrasensory abilities. “I am exhausted, you’re right about that, but I have a duty.”

“Several, I’d say.” That makes Kathryn’s eyes come up. Deanna’s are as grave as the tone of her voice was light. “Officer’s duty. Wife’s duty. Personal duty. Friend’s duty. Do you want me to go on?”

“You’ve made your point well enough.” Kathryn grimaces. _Roles again._ “Still. There’s only so much of me to go around, and right now, I don’t feel up to all of them.”

“Which is why I’m, ever so gently, pushing you towards a certain… priority.”

Deanna’s dry words win a smile from Kathryn. “Gently, eh?”

“You know, sometimes I regret that I’m not a counselor any more. I was able to make things medical orders, then.” Deanna turns and walks over to the replicator.

“Oh, subtle, Commander, very subtle.” Still, Kathryn finds that the smile lingers. Talking to Deanna Troi has that effect on a lot of people, and Kathryn herself has used it on purpose quite a few times, at the negotiation table or at the inevitable functions and parties, with their inevitable and much more effective bartering and posturing. 

“Eat, Kathryn.” A plate of stir-fry and fragrant rice appears in front of Kathryn. “And then go see your wife, or sleep, or both.”

“Deanna, you’re barely two months older than me. You can’t order me around like that. Quite apart from the fact that I outrank you, Commander.”

“Oh, subtle, Admiral, very subtle.” Deanna’s voice is full of friendly taunting by now, and Kathryn knows that that’s something she can’t let her continue. As if on cue, Deanna says, amiable as you please, “still, you know I’m right. Eat up, and then go.”

 _Good grief._ “Yes, Mom.” They share a smile that lifts a lot of tension. “I suppose I should feel lucky that you didn’t add ‘do it’, right?”


	3. Chapter 3

“Good afternoon, Doctor.”

“Admiral! It’s good to see you. And you brought a book – do I assume correctly that you’re planning to stay a while?”

“My first officer tells me it would be a good idea. No, leave that tricorder. I had a full night’s sleep, a briefing filled with relatively good news, enough bathroom breaks over the day – Doctor, I even had lunch.” She smiles at him when he indeed puts his instrument aside. “Thanks.” She pats him on the shoulder and passes across to the biobed. “No changes, I suppose?”

“None.”

“Come on, Marie, you can do it. You can find your way back. Doctor, would you mind…” she turns around, silent appeal in her eyes. 

“Of course not. I’ll be in my office, monitoring her readings from there. Call me if you need me.” No touch this time. Then again, Kathryn doesn’t feel half as shot as she did yesterday.

“Thanks.” She takes the chair, wondering for the first time if, apart from her, other people use it. _A box full of get-well cards._ Does Naomi come here? Gilmore? Eighty-six of the one hundred and forty-eight people she got home have signed on again for this trip. All of them knew Marie, some of them quite well. “I don’t come here often enough, I’m beginning to think, you know.” She touches Marie’s cheek.

“I’ve been practically chased off the bridge,” Kathryn goes on; “been told by my first officer to haul my butt down here and relax a little. You’d have loved it, I’m sure. I brought a book of mine; I thought I’d read to you again, you know. Seeing how you like my voice so much. Something I’ve never understood, in fact. I mean, it serves its purpose, but beyond that?” If only Marie would smile. She should, by rights. Smile, and throw her arms around Kathryn’s neck, full of her usual exuberance, or snuggle close in that hesitant, heartbreaking way she had on _Garuda_. 

“Marie, I miss you. I hope that hearing my voice will make it easier for you to get back. And I said this before, but… maybe you haven’t heard, so…” Kathryn swallows. She’s said this almost every time she’s been here, and it hasn’t gotten easier. “You’re not to blame, Marie. I certainly don’t blame you. You had to make a split-second decision, and you chose wrong. That could have happened to anyone, Marie, anyone. And it doesn’t even matter; I’m alive, aren’t I? Your choice had no dire consequences for anyone, except yourself, if Althea is correct. And if she is…” Again, Kathryn has to swallow, to get past that lump in her throat. _Hormones. Must be._ “Marie, everything is alright. We’re waiting for you to get back. I’m waiting for you to get back. Break free of this. Choose to leave this behind. I know you can do it. Trust me. Everything’s alright. Please come back.”

And as in the last five days, her words don’t change a thing. After a minute or so, Kathryn sighs and opens the book she brought and begins to read aloud.

After an hour or so, a readout changes, an alarm begins to bleep, and the Doctor hurries over. “Doctor to Healer Kalliste, please report to sickbay immediately.”

“What’s wrong, Doctor?” Kathryn knows she has to step away, to make space for him, but it seems her muscles are staging a mutiny.

“Nothing’s wrong, Admiral.” His smile is hopeful. “On the contrary – it would seem that Miss Vey is waking up. This reading is her encephalogram – see these spikes here?”

“Yes,” Kathryn manages, and turns when Althea storms into sickbay, brushing past her without as much as a by-your-leave, to touch two fingers to Marie’s forehead.

“She’s coming back. Oh, _Hades_ ,” the healer spits out the epithet, “Kathryn, come here, I need you.” She stretches out a hand, grabs Kathryn’s hastily offered one, pulls her in.

Hopelessness. Despair. A hint of wild, frenzied exhilaration, at – flying? The sensations that are rushing towards Kathryn are a-jumble, mad, frightened beyond belief, and they all ride on a tiny strand of hope, almost invisible in the oppressive whirl.

The first thing Marie’s eyes alight on when they open is Kathryn’s face. And it’s only because Althea is still linking her with her wife that Kathryn can put names to the emotions going through those eyes – that spark of hope flares, only to be instantly guarded behind disbelief, and firm grey walls of rationality that are almost more painful that the mistrust. This isn’t the naked fear they both had to face after the Friiell encounter. This is completely conscious, and all the more terrifying for it.

Marie stops herself in the very act of reaching out towards Kathryn, and they both know the cost of that immediately. Then Kathryn watches her wife pull back from Althea’s hand, feels her disappear from that sixth sense. Watches Marie sit up, watches her eyes drop to the swell of their daughter, to Kathryn’s ringless hand. Watches a frown flit over those familiar features at the sight, a frown that throws her with its insecurity.

“It’s right here. They both are,” Kathryn takes both rings out of her right pocket and holds them out. “I couldn’t… I wanted you to…” She can’t go on. Althea throws her a glance, then grasps the Doctor’s arm and pulls him away. _She’s the only one who can do that,_ part of Kathryn remembers. _Non-corporeal. Skin or photons, she can touch both._ How it had irritated him, the first time she’d … _stop it, Janeway. Back to this,_ now.

Marie’s eyes are fixed on Kathryn’s outstretched hand. Emotions flicker across her face, too fast, too confused for Kathryn to make out. She can see jaw muscles work, nostrils flare, eyes narrow and widen again, and she has no idea what’s going on. More of what Marie’s been feeling when she’d woken up? Something else?

“Marie, talk to me, please.” No command tones, and still Marie ducks her head even lower. Then two tears land on the blanket still across her lap.

“I don’t know what to say,” Marie whispers. Then she falls silent, for too long. Another part of Kathryn wants to laugh, if this wasn’t gutting her. _Marie, speechless._ “I don’t know if this is real, you see,” Marie goes on, even quieter. “Nothing else was.”

“Marie, I’m right here. I’m real. Take my hand, Marie, feel me. This is real.” Kathryn reaches out with her other hand, too, the two of them hovering in front of the two of Marie’s, clenched around the hem of her blanket. 

Then those chocolate eyes come up. Marie has never curtained them, never –sometimes Kathryn thinks her wife doesn’t even know how – and they aren’t now. The look in them hits Kathryn squarely in every nerve ending. “You said that before. I touched you before, and held you. Kissed you. And it wasn’t real.” Suddenly, fury rises above the helplessness. “It wasn’t real! It wasn’t real then, and there is no way of telling now, either! I wish there were, but there isn’t!”

“Marie, please-” 

”Don’t!” The cry when Kathryn tries to touch Marie’s hands is almost shrill with fear, and with a wild motion, Marie slaps them away.

Two rings go flying. Kathryn’s eyes follow their trajectory, then things turn black.

* * *

I see Kathryn collapse. So do the Doctor and Althea, and come running over. I reach her first, though – all I have to do is slip from the biobed, after all, and drop to my knees. The Doctor already has his sensor out, and Althea’s fingers are around Kathryn’s outflung wrist, and all the while I try to determine what to do. My fingers twitch to touch her, ease away the strand of her hair that has fallen into her face. I do pick her up when the Doctor says to get her to the biobed, but I don’t quite manage and Althea has to come to my aid and it sickens me. 

It sickens me that I don’t know whether this is real, that I can’t think of a way to tell, either. It sickens me that I’m shaking like I am. It sickens me that my reaction, the reaction I did so not want, that this reaction made my wife faint. Biting my hand has worked before, and it does so now, and still I can’t bear what just happened, and the Doctor and Althea are so concentrated on Kathryn’s still form that they don’t notice me slipping out of sickbay. Or at least they don’t stop me.

The corridor – the short bit I need to walk down to reach the turbolift at least – is blessedly free of people. The doors slide close behind me, and I punch in the override that’ll keep them that way; I don’t want company, even if I can’t quite decide where to go to at the moment. 

Our quarters? But Kathryn will come home, and then what will I do? What will we do? I don’t think I’m up to that, after seeing her faint just now. The mess hall is completely out of the question, too. “Deck eleven,” I tell the computer, after a while. I’ll just have to give engineering a wide berth, right? I reach the aft lounge without encountering anyone, and replicate a warm blanket to wrap myself in while I watch the stars converge behind us. At least their motion is straightforward, if nothing else is, least of all my thoughts. 

I’m pretty certain who it is when the doors open an indiscernible while later, and indeed, Althea sits down next to me.

“They’re both alright.”

“Thanks.”

More time passes. I don’t know if I like that she’s here. It changes, from one moment to the next, and she probably feels it. And yet this dithering is completely insignificant, a tiny, trifling little thing, compared to how I feel about Kathryn, not that I can bring myself to think about that part much. 

Althea doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask anything, doesn’t offer advice, help, opinion. Just… companionship I can’t find it in me to accept. Finally, it makes me uncomfortable enough to want to express it, and then I find I can’t find words to do so.

“What a mess, eh?” Althea’s tone is perfect. It’s not light, nor teasing, but not too heavily sighed, either. 

“God, yes.”

“Hoping for divine intervention might actually help, you know.” Now she’s smiling, but her voice tells me she’s still serious.

“How so?”

“In that this isn’t a thing to be rationally explained or understood,” she answers, changing position on the couch to look at me. 

“A leap of faith,” I murmur, and see her nod from the corners of my eyes. “I’m not particularly good at that.”

“It got you here, didn’t it?”

I flinch at her words, at the memory of jumping. At how Althea simply knows what I did, and what I’m thinking. It doesn’t exactly lessen the feeling that this might be just another… scenario, either. “It did. But how do I know that’s a good thing?”

“Well, how does it feel like?”

I huff a bitter bout of laughter. “Wobbly. And I made Kathryn faint.” 

“But that’s not the main problem, is it.” 

Has she learned this from her wife, or am I, basically, talking to myself? Either way, I don’t reply. It’s not really a question she needs an answer to, after all, isn’t it. And much as I know she doesn’t read people’s thoughts _all_ the time, I guess she can’t help being aware of the deep, all-pervading dread I feel, so I don’t need to tell her about it. Her next words confirm it, anyway.

“People can live with fear like this, for a while. Depends how long. But they can. You know that, I know that.” She nudges me with her shoulder. “You’re back. I know you can’t quite bring yourself to believe it yet, and I’m not saying you should or shouldn’t. Not much point, right? Your decision, that one is.” 

I wait for the ‘but’ that doesn’t come, then I find an admittedly tortured smile for her. “I’m hurting her.”

“Of course you are. Good thing you never promised not to, isn’t it.”

“Shit, Althea.” How can she say such things? 

“And you’re hurting yourself,” she goes on, “and your friends, too. But that’s how it is. No one ever said life was nice, nor loving easy. But the good thing about the love of a friend, or a wife, is that it’s patient.”

Patience… I grit my teeth. 

“Healing is a matter of time just as much as craft,” Althea says, looking back at the stars. “You wouldn’t believe how long it took for Hippocrates to understand that. And once he did, what did he do but embrace the thought, and pass it off as his own.” She smiles wryly. “That, too, is how it is. Ah well. I’m sorry, Marie. One of the disadvantages of being eons old, right? Such a lot to reminisce over and get lost in.”

“Don’t be, please. Not about this. In fact…” but I don’t go on. It’s too… frivolous, isn’t it, to ask her to-

She knows exactly where I’m going, though. “Oh, gladly, Marie. Sit back and relax, if you want to.”

And then she proceeds to tell me about an island in the Aegean, about sandy beaches and rocky beaches and waves lapping up on shores, deep blue meeting turquoise meeting white. About a sanctuary that became a temple that became a school, and how people came to be healed, or brought their sick and dying, and how understanding grew on both sides. How she finally, one day, reached one of them, touched his mind. How he promptly went mad at the contact, at the alien-ness of it. How she fled, and didn’t return until the pleas of the sick and dying turned her heart. How she watched, and learned, and tried again, and found one bright young mind, eager and open, a mind that learned with her and from her, and that taught her and cherished her. 

Her words and her peculiar way of talking don’t quite take away my fear, but I manage to put it aside for a while, listening to her. She tells me about climbing onto a ship for the first time in her life, I think, when I slide into sleep.

* * *

_Deanna. She’s asleep._

_Kathryn isn’t. She’s desperately lonely._

_They both are._

_It’s awful to see them this way, Althea._

_I know. For me, too. You can authorize a site-to-site transport, can’t you?_

_I know what you’re up to, and as I said, Kathryn isn’t asleep yet._

_That won’t be too much of a problem, I think._

_Althea, you can’t just throw them at each other and hope that they’ll stick together just like that._

_No, ornithárion, but I can let them have one night of peaceful sleep in each other’s arms, can’t I? Let them deal with the repercussions when they wake up. Maybe it’ll even help. They’re both strong._

_And you’re manipulative._

_Not being bound by a counselor’s rules does have its perks, I’ll admit._

_Althea!_

_Let them have this, Deanna. They’re hurting anyway, and they’ll hurt each other a lot more, getting over this. Let them have this, at least._

_Alright then. But explain, to both of them._

_Surely not beforehand? They’d never agree, neither of them._

_Deities, Althea, sometimes you… very well then, just do whatever you think best. You’ll do that anyway, no matter what I say, right?_

_I love you too, my little bird._

_Just come home afterwards. Yann is in bed, so I can’t cuddle him any longer, and I need someone to hug._

* * *

Kathryn looks up at the sound of someone rematerializing in the bedroom. Rising from the couch with a startled blink, she hears, _it’s me_ , and relaxes a little. There’s only one ‘me’ who this can be.

“And a good thing, too,” she says, walking over, “I was just thinking a-” her breath catches when she realizes Althea hasn’t come alone. “What-?”

“She’s just asleep, Kathryn, don’t worry.” Althea’s voice is soft. She looks up from the body curled up on the bed and Kathryn realizes that the healer’s eyes are just as gentle as her tones were. “Still terrified about what happened, though, and that she caused you such distress.”

Kathryn’s gaze drops down to her wife’s face again. “I’m not sure if it’s a good idea that you brought her here, Healer.”

“Kathryn, just do this one thing, and if it doesn’t work out I’ll remedy things immediately.” 

Kathryn raises both eyebrows at this. A deal? That’s new. “I’m listening.”

“Just lie down next to her for a moment.” And even though Kathryn’s just about seen that one coming, it makes her take an involuntary step backwards. “Just for one moment, Kathryn,” Althea goes on. “As I said, if this doesn’t work, I’ll…”

“You’ve given this some thought, I hope?” It’s tempting, more so when Marie moves a little, to nuzzle her face more closely to the pillow. Kathryn knows those sounds, those movements. And good heavens, she’s missed them. And single bunks on _Garuda_ , and what bit of snuggling had transpired there, had done nothing to still her yearning. Then the last few days… _And_ she’s out of uniform already, even if not in pyjamas. “Alright then.”

Climbing into bed with Althea looking on makes Kathryn feel quite uncomfortable, but then her wife’s scent hits her, the warmth and weight of a sleepy arm sneaking around her belly, the unmistakable pull – Marie can’t be really awake, but Kathryn’s thoughts on the matter are derailed, no, stopped completely, when she feels Marie spooning into her, knees within the crook of hers, breath in her hair, that little, contented sound. It feels so… right, so incredibly, truly right, that all her protests, all her misgivings, just give up their fighting.

“Good night, Admiral,” she hears, from quite a long way away.

* * *

I know what’s happening. A part of mine had watched Althea touch her combadge, ask for a site-to-site transport, talk to Kathryn. A part of me had approved, and curled my arm around my wife and buried my nose in her hair, relishing in sheer creature comfort. Another part had recoiled in panic at this out-of-body experience, but I’d shouted it down, in a manner of speaking. Part of me knows that I need this, whatever comes of it. Part of me knows that Kathryn needs it, too. Part of me wonders how many parts of me are around by now, and thinks of doubled mirrors again.

But for the most part, I’m simply content, if not downright happy, to feel Kathryn’s chest rise and fall beneath my arm, to have her scent in my hair, Starfleet sheets on my skin. Strange, how satisfying familiarity can be, how soothing. A bit of my fear melts, at how warm I’m feeling.

When I wake up, I manage not to wake my… not to wake Kathryn. My wife – but she hadn’t been wearing the rings, in sickbay. I grit my teeth and disentangle my arm carefully, determined not to play the what-if game so soon. This night’s sleep has been another gift of Althea’s, and I do realize how it’s worked a change in me. Not quite sure what kind of change, but then she _had_ said something about patience, hadn’t she?

So. _Be patient, Vey, even if you’re still trembling._ Preparing breakfast for Kathryn is easy – a few taps on the replicator control tell me what she’s had in the last few days, and sweet buns and fruit are not so far from what we used to have, pregnancy or no. Recognizing how readily using the replicator comes back to me is bittersweet – I don’t know what to make of it, really, only that it’s patently not a straightforward feeling. Two more taps yield a few sheets of paper and a pen.

> Kathryn –  
>  thank you for tonight. [My pen hovers a long time.] I am so terribly sorry for hurting you. And yet I can’t think of a way to stop, at the moment. Take the simple fact of sharing breakfast with you – I can’t, much as I want to. The smell of your coffee… I am sorry. I love you, incredibly so, painfully so, but I need to find my way to you again, I suppose. [Again, my pen hovers, while I’m debating whether or not to let this stand, but in the end, I go on without crossing it out or starting over.] I’ll try to not do it on my own, but… I can’t say yet. Again, I’m sorry. I have no idea how to go from here, much as I’m certain where I want to go. I’ve heard speak of time, and patience, and I guess I’m asking you for both again, hoping that you can spare some.  
>  What I said yesterday… I realize I hurt you, and still do, and that, quite probably, I’ll continue to do so, and I can’t tell you how awful that feels, and how I wish things were different. But what I said was true [I waver, then add], for a given value of true. I really don’t have any idea whether this is real at all, and… If you don’t want to take all this, if you can’t, I’d understand completely.  
>  I’m terrified, Kathryn. Of so many things. Of seeing you again, and of never seeing you again, and of seeing only the admiral ever again. [I have no idea where that suddenly came from, but, again, I let it stand.] Of not having what it takes to get through this. But I want to, and I’ll try to, because I don’t want this to have been the last night in my wife’s arms. [I nod. This feels right.]  
>  I am not forgetting our daughter. But I don’t want to say anything like ‘for her sake’, either; it wouldn’t be fair to any of us, I feel. [I hesitate before writing the next bit, for quite a while. I have no idea how long I have before Kathryn wakes up, but… writing this is not easy. Not by a long shot.] I would like to find a way. I want to find a way.  
>  I love you. Please don’t ever doubt that. This mess wouldn’t be half as messy if I didn’t love you so. [Now where did that come from? Quite the wrong tone, isn’t it? And yet I can’t move my pen to cross it out.] I’m trying. 

I jot the double circus tent of my initial, grimacing when I think of where I last left it. Then I put the thermos cup on top of the letter, and leave. If I’d gone to that other door, to sneak a last look at her, I’m not sure I could have walked through this one.

Then, mindful of ‘I’m trying’, I set out to start the day, and to find Deanna Troi.

* * *

Kathryn rolls to her back, fresh tears running towards her ears. It had hurt when Marie had risen without a word. Kathryn knows how to read the sounds of her wife’s motions, even with her eyes closed, and that fact alone had been painful. Marie had stood next to the bed, breath coming in short, shallow bouts, gulps almost, looking down on Kathryn for the longest time. Then, a little sigh, a turn, a sliding sound, and steps towards the living room. The sound of the replicator, the smell of coffee (more anguish), the sound of a pen scribbling, hesitating, scribbling again, and finally, the door.

Nothing in the Delta Quadrant, nothing in her current mission, nothing in her _life_ had scared Kathryn more than the thought of what she might find on the table.

When she’d woken up in sickbay yesterday, the Doctor had been at her side, the healer gone. Then her first officer had come in, eyes solicitous and unbearable. 

“I don’t understand this,” Kathryn had said, not quite sure to whom of the two. 

“Althea is under the impression that Marie has experienced several scenarios while she was unconscious,” Deanna had answered.

“Scenarios?”

“About how things could have gone on, after what happened on the holo-ship.”

“Hallucinations?” Kathryn had guessed, and received a weighing of heads.

“There are no medical reasons that would support this,” the Doctor had said, launching into a lengthy description of symptoms until her hand had cut him short. Then Deanna had added that the ‘feel’ of Marie’s mind hadn’t been right, either.

Kathryn had remembered her near-death experience on that godforsaken planet with its mind-eating alien, and had put that theory up, to equally skeptical responses. 

“The best I can say,” Deanna had answered, “from what little Althea is gleaning from her, is that it’s been traumatic. Althea doesn’t think Marie remembers what happened, and that the repressed memory of her choosing wrong has played itself out in a variety of ways in her mind.”

“She said that she’d talked to me, even touched me, and that it hadn’t been real,” Kathryn had recalled, feeling slightly ill at what had come next. “And that she had no way of telling whether _this_ is real.”

“She’s right with that,” Deanna had said, sorrow in her eyes. “A mental image is exactly as real as our mind makes it. If anything, she has to believe this is real, but as long as she doesn’t…”

Kathryn had stared at her, nausea rising. “How can we reassure her? There must be a way of convincing her-”

“Think about it, Kathryn.” Deanna’s words had been relentless. “There isn’t. Every word we hear, every action we see, is interpreted by our minds. Only Marie can choose to perceive things as evidence to one or the other. Unless she chooses to trust that this is real, nothing we do or say, not even the bond that you share, will make much of a difference.” She’d smiled, grimly. “Unless we act completely out of character and convince her that this isn’t real, which isn’t quite what we want, right?”

“God…” Kathryn had been glad to still be sitting on the biobed.

And now Marie’s letter sits in her hand, implying the same things that Deanna had. Terrified, and trying. And opening the door for Kathryn to leave if she wanted. _She can’t mean that, can she? I’m not going to leave her. Whatever this takes, I am not going to leave her._

“Computer, locate Marie Vey.”

“Marie Vey is in guest quarters five zero one beta.” 

Kathryn remembers they’d been Ellie’s, and sighs. They’ve been refurbished; Marie won’t find anything familiar there. 

“Time.”

“It is 0623 hours.”

More than enough time to get dressed, have breakfast – Kathryn clenches her teeth, looking at the table set for one – and still have a bit of time before her shift starts. Her thoughts run around wildly while the sonic shower soothes her muscles. _Whatever will this take? Don’t act out of character, alright, but… how can I make this easy for Marie?_ Returning to the bedroom to put on her uniform, she stops when she reaches the dresser. Her rank bars are there, but… only one ring. Baby Janeway chooses this moment for a bit of calisthenics, but that alone can’t account for how difficult breathing suddenly is. 

_She hasn’t taken hers. She can’t have mistaken them; the difference in size is too obvious. God, but we made so many jokes about that… Why has she taken mine, not hers?_

A memento. 

_Oh, for pity’s sake, don’t bawl, Janeway. Take hers, as you’ve done these past few days, for much the same reason._

It sits securely in her pocket when she leaves, half an hour later.


	4. Chapter 4

“Vey to Commander Troi.”

“Troi here, Miss Vey; what can I do for you?” So it seems I am a Miss, still? Haven’t really given it much thought, truth be told. For a fleeting moment, I’m tempted to insist on ‘Crewman’. For a moment. Then the impulse flutters away.

“I… I just left my quarters to meet with you, but… I… I found a letter, in front of my door, and…” And I’m pretty certain who it’s from, and that I want to read it right away, no matter how much it scares me. 

“I understand, Miss Vey,” even though I haven’t said any of this. Then again, she’s an empath. And a counselor. And she knows Kathryn. Maybe they even talked about this already; I have no idea how, how often, how much they interact in that aspect. “Would you like us to meet in, say, an hour,” she continues, “or would you rather call back when you’re finished with it?”

“Uh…” No chickening out. It’s frowned upon in officers. “An hour will be fine, I think.”

“I’ll be right here,” she replies. “Troi out.”

Well now. Well now. I take a deep breath and carry the letter back inside. It’s rolled, and tied with a ribbon – nothing fancy, but the color… creamy white, matching the stationery, and the shirt I remember so well. And by all circles of hell, it even carries a bit of her scent – she puts it on her wrists instead of on her neck, and she must have done so just before sitting down to write this. I can see her doing it. Then I realize I have no idea how her handwriting will look, and the following giggle takes a bit of my tension with it, even if it brings a different kind along. 

It’s strong, I see that when I open the letter. Of course it would be. Bold, and elegant; slanted to the right just as mine is, but not quite as expansive.

> Marie –  
>  please let me thank you, for tonight, and for your letter and its openness. You said you’re terrified, and I’ve seen that, and yet you’ve been brave enough to put all this to paper – you’re incredible, Marie. I won’t say that I understand what you’re going through; I can’t. What you’ve told me… I can’t quite make sense of it, and what little I know, in all honesty, frightens me, too. I would appreciate if you told me what happened. I share your hope that we will find a way through this – we, Marie, if you’ll let me. If not, if you prefer to do this on your own, I’ll try to give you all the time and space you need, but be certain of this: I will not leave you to do this on your own if you do not expressly tell me to. I will not abandon you unless that is what you wish for.  
>  I’m glad you’re home, Marie, and I’m not the only one to feel that way. And I hope you’ll find your way back to me in other ways, too. Whatever I can do to help, please tell me. You said you love me, and I love you, Marie. And even though I certainly agree that love isn’t all you need, it’s a good basis, isn’t it?  
>  Don’t (and I mean this in the most loving way possible) don’t be a stranger, Marie. 

Her signature is a bit more ornate than mine – she signed with both her initials rather than her full name, and there’s more that you can do with a K and a J than with an M, right? I read the letter again, and it’s then that its full content impacts on me. She’s just as scared as I am. And she wants to help. And she loves me. 

If it is her. 

I manage not to crumple the letter. No, I deposit it diligently on the sofa, next to me, before I ball my fists, fingernails biting into palms. I feel like howling, like wolfs do, or Klingons, even though no one has died. I _want_ this to be real. I landed here, and things fit, don’t they? My body is lean as I remember it, my hair no longer grey, and hell yes, there’s even a line on my finger where the ring used to be. My feet have carried me through _Voyager’s_ corridors much more readily than through my Cologne apartment, I’ve called out all the right things to the computer, I replicated breakfast so easily… I want this, I want this, I so desperately want this to be real, but I don’t dare. 

~~~

The afternoon finds me, as promised and right on time, in the first officer’s office. The changes here are much more pronounced than any I’ve seen on the ship, but that’s to be expected, isn’t it? Somehow, it would have been worrying, not to mention weird, if Troi had been sitting among Chakotay’s things all this time. _Deanna,_ I remember, _first-name basis._ Nevertheless, this is a business call, so to speak. 

“Thanks for seeing me,” I begin, feeling nervous as a first-year student.

“I would have sought you out, eventually, if you hadn’t come,” she replies with a smile. I grimace, and it deepens. “You want to tackle this, and that’s a good thing. And better yet that you’ve decided not to tackle this on your own.”

“I’m professional enough to recognize that I need help, I suppose.” It looks like a true smile, on her face. And she’s never been anything but friendly, since our meeting at Christmas made up for that messed-up first encounter over the comm. It’s not that I don’t trust her, but… I suddenly realize – empath. “I’m sorry,” I explain, and repeat my thought, to explain my sudden trepidation. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s just… I don’t trust anything right now, rather.”

“How do you want to proceed?” Still nice and amiable. Professional. Well, how _do_ I want to proceed? Is it even a good idea to do this? Well, if I’m still dreaming, I’m only talking to myself, aren’t I, and if I’m not – I do need help, and I am enough of a professional to realize it. So yes. _For the sake of no longer hurting the woman you love, Vey._

“I… honestly don’t know. I know where I want to go,” I repeat what I’ve written Kathryn, “but I’m buggered if I know how to get there.” Deanna doesn’t ask. We both know the obvious question to follow a statement like this, and I know the obvious answer, and I guess that’s why she doesn’t speak up. So I change course, slightly. “Um… I don’t really know what happened to me – my body, that is – over the last few days or weeks…”

I leave it dangling, and she answers, “five days, almost.”

“Over the last five days, then. Felt longer, to my mind. Can you… tell me?”

“Well, there’s not much to tell, I’m afraid,” she says, leaning slightly back in her chair. “You were in sickbay, unconscious, and all we knew was that your neurons were firing madly. So, your saying that it felt longer certainly would fit to that.”

“But how did I get there? How did I end up unconscious in sickbay?”

“You don’t remember?”

I shudder, involuntarily, and feel alarm klaxons in my head. For several reasons, really. “Holy subconscious,” I breathe. “Tell me, is paranoia usually a symptom of depression?”

“Not usually. But…” she looks at me as if trying to decide whether I’m stable enough for her next words, “repressed memories are.”

Well, I do know that, don’t I? Even if only from the outside, as it were. And now it seems I… Prodding the darkness makes it rise at the edges of my vision, and bile come up my throat. _Retreat, Vey, retreat!_ “Can we…” I take a deep, unsteady breath. “Can we keep this on a detached basis for now? You know, compare symptoms and theories as if it weren’t me we’re talking about?”

“You want to diagnose yourself?” Her eyes are accepting. Empath, right? She’s probably sensed that wave of panic just now.

“Essentially, yes.” I take another deep breath. “Not for long. It just… I think it would help me at the moment.”

She nods, and so that’s what we do. She even accepts me talking about ‘the patient’ after I explain that I’m quite, quite conscious about role-play and its dangers. So. Repressed memories, at least one, maybe more. Mistrust and a feeling of helplessness, of floundering. False memories that, nevertheless, the patient has to come to terms with. We plot our way through all this quite nicely. Still I’m shot at the end of this first appointment. 

“I… thank you for your time, Commander.”

Again, her smile blooms. “Oh, you’re very welcome, Miss Vey. When do you want to come back?” 

Part of me wants to say ‘not ever’, part of me wants to continue tomorrow, or sooner. Then again, I do need a breather. “What does your schedule say?” I don’t have one, after all.

“Day after tomorrow? Eleven hundred hours?”

“Okay.” My mouth twitches, trying for a smile of my own to give her. “Thanks.”

Leaving her office, I wonder how to tackle my next task.

* * *

Kathryn turns her eyes from the stars to the monitor on her desk when it signals an incoming message. Two, in fact, one from her first officer and one from Marie. Which to read first…? Order of arrival, Kathryn decides, and opens Troi’s.

> Kathryn –  
>  Marie came to see me this afternoon. I’ve got a hunch that she’s about to contact you, and I think you should know that Althea’s guess has been correct. Marie doesn’t consciously remember what has happened before we beamed off the holo-ship, and I think it could be detrimental if she learns it before she’s ready – which, to judge from our appointment just now, she isn’t yet. I do hope that she does contact you, but please bear that in mind. On a more promising note, she seems determined to find her way through this, and to accept help. Please let me reiterate that I stand ready to do whatever I can to help both of you. And please don’t forget yourself about all of this, Admiral. 

Good thing she’s read this first. So Marie is already seeking professional help, is she? In all her fear, her insecurity? Then again, it had been in her letter, too, that resolve. Indomitable. Another adjective with ‘i’ – Kathryn smirks at the thought. Irreverent, impossible, indomitable Marie. She has to blink a few times before she can open the next message. Baby Janeway doesn’t help. She’s testing the confines she’s in, concentrating on Kathryn’s ribs at the moment. At least it’s only pressure, though, not jabs.

> Kathryn –  
>  I would like to talk with you. Read: I know I should, and part of me wants to, but… well. In much the same vein, I don’t think I could face talking with you in our quarters. If it’s not too much to ask, would you come by the guest quarters I’ve appropriated? I realize coming here might not have been the best move I ever made, but… well (again).  
>  I’ll be there for the rest of today. And I’d like to see you as early as possible for you, but that’s your discretion, right?  
>  And: thank you for your letter.  
>  I hope to see you soon – M 

Kathryn drums her fingers on the table. Indomitable – or irresponsible? There’s no telling, yet, whether it’s a good thing Marie’s doing. Deanna seems to think so. But Kathryn distinctly remembers weeks of battling fear, and how much it had cost both of them. And even if this is a different situation, it’s not too far off the mark, is it?

Learning that being pregnant wasn’t something she could simply ignore had been… cause for grumbling. She’d wanted, she’d _planned_ , to go on much as she normally would, and had felt quite patronized when her first officer, her chief engineer, even her own mother over the conn., had smiled patiently and, at times, laughed – cheekily, out loud, and right in her face. It had added considerably to her irritation at being… resided in like this. 

“No offense meant, little one.” Kathryn’s hand strokes her belly purposefully. “But, you know, you’re not the most considerate of tenants. Not that I’ve had many to compare you to.” Learning to integrate being pregnant into her perception of herself, learning to accept its restrictions as price for its wonder, learning not to push herself so hard in some ways, and harder in others – it had been the responsible thing to do. Is it responsible, what Marie is doing? For either of them? Kathryn hates that last thought, but there’s no way around it, is there. If Marie pushes herself like this, the pressure extends to Kathryn, too – and adds to all the other concerns. Kathryn hadn’t been joking when she’d told her first officer she wasn’t sure whether she was up to it. And that had been before this new twist to ‘it’.

Well, one thing is certain – there’s no way she’s not going to see Marie. She types her reply, promising to come down as soon as possible today. She barely has time for another trip to the bathroom (and for thinking, once again, how damn convenient it is that there is one right on this deck) before it’s time for the afternoon briefing. 

“We’ve heard,” B’Elanna says, under her breath, when she passes by behind Kathryn’s chair to get to her own. “How is she?”

Kathryn sighs and gives her chief engineer a smile that’s sadder than she’d have wanted it to be, to judge by how B’Elanna’s eyes change. “Later, alright?”

“Of course.”

“Now, ladies and gentlemen.” Again, Kathryn calls them to order. Again, expectant eyes meet her from around the table. _Chin up, Janeway._ Sometimes she hates how like her father she sounds to her own mind. “How far along are we?”

It’s Tom who grins first, of course. And even if he doesn’t say a word, it spreads onto every face until Althea (of course) answers. “Just about six and a half months, I should say?”

“Commander.” At least it’s Deanna who chides, not Kathryn; Deanna Troi with her usual endless patience and not a single smidgeon of reproach in her voice. And praises be to every Olympian or other deity that Althea chooses to let the matter lie.

“If I may, Admiral?” Daurannen, bless her.

“Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

“All systems are clear.” Daurannen’s chin comes up, almost cocky with fierce pride. Kathryn knows, too, that it’s no use calling her out on this. If Daurannen says they’re clear, they are. Seeing the circles beneath the lieutenant’s eyes, Kathryn has no doubt at all that she’s been up all night to ensure the truth of this simple statement. It allows for a bit of cockiness, certainly.

“Thank you, Lieutenant, and your team. Very well done.” Put that tone in your voice and that gleam in your eye, too, to convey to Daurannen how impressive you find this. “The pretense sensor system?”

“We figured we should get the actual systems up to specs before we started on it, ma’am, but Ottner and Gilmore are installing the preliminary hardware in the computer core’s access room as we speak.”

“And I’ve got two teams crawling through Jeffries tubes to ensure that the two systems can be operated separately,” Torres adds. “And another team, from engineering and ops, is working on the necessary programming.”

“We’re on double shifts and expect to finish around oh-four-hundred, so we can do some test runs during gamma shift.” Daurannen looks over to ch’Vlossen, who nods slightly and picks up the thread. 

“A team of mine has been coming at the programming from every angle we could think of, to make sure that an unexpected request or incident won’t expose us, and it looks good so far. Lieutenants Torres and Paris have helped greatly.”

“Well, we used to be sneaky baddies, right?” Paris grins. “Exactly the sort of people you needed, I’d say.”

“Speak for yourself, Flyboy.”

“What?” He spreads his arms in his best act of hurt innocence, then snaps his fingers. “Ah, I know – Klingons aren’t sneaky, right? They’re cunning. My apologies.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

“I hope you have devoted a bit of that sneaky brain of yours to figuring out what to do about those mobile emitters, Mister Paris.” 

“Yes, _ma’am_ ,” oh, there is no stopping him now. Kathryn resigns herself to his cheekiness, knowing it’ll run its course eventually. “We’ve remodulated internal sensors to mirror the photonic pulse of the phaser you used on the holo-ship. We can’t run it continuously – takes too much power – and we obviously can’t scan the whole ship at once since the beam is stopped by every bulkhead, but we’re confident it’ll work as it’s intended to.”

“Confident.”

He gives her that look of wide-eyed innocence of his. “Why, there’s just no way of testing, ma’am.”

“Of course. Go on, Mister Paris.” Kathryn feels rather proud that she managed not to roll her eyes, or snort a laugh.

“As it is,” he says, much more businesslike, “we have it up and running on deck one, and parts of deck eleven. We figured the bridge and engineering would be the most sensitive targets. Next on the list are the transporters and the main computer core, for obvious reasons, and the guest quarters.”

“Time estimate?”

“Same as the others,” he shrugs, “tomorrow morning. We’re planning to reconfigure the sensors on every deck, but that’ll take a while. I’ll have a priority list on your desk tonight.”

“See that you do. Now, Commander Troi, about the crew-”

“We had a list of volunteers for being casualties,” Deanna’s smile is barely a twinkle in her eye, “even after we explained how we meant the term. The whole crew is informed and ready, Admiral.”

“And fully behind you, too,” Althea adds. At her wife’s sharply cocked eyebrow, she elaborates, “we needed to know, right? Mistrusting someone you don’t know is one thing, but to know that there have been two doppelgangers on board for days had speculations running like wildfire.” Her eyes meet Deanna’s, perplexed green to glowering black. “Deanna. You know that, the admiral knows it, and you both didn’t do a thing about it, so _I_ did.”

“Just exactly what did you do, Healer?” Kathryn says, more sharply than she’d intended.

Althea looks at her, bewilderment obvious in her face. “There is no mind on this ship that harbors deceit. I looked into all of them to make sure of that.”

Kathryn leans back sharply. Quite a few chairs around the table move, in fact, one way or the other. “Commander…” she shakes her head, slowly. Maybe a bit dangerously, too. “I told you to clear these things with me, didn’t I?”

“Would you have condoned it?” Althea seems truly curious, and for some reason, that’s more irritating than defensiveness would have been.

“Of course not!”

“And with reason,” Deanna chimes in. “You can’t just invade people’s minds like this, Commander!”

“Why not?” Althea rises and steps away from the table, slowly walking around it. “A – we needed to know. You said so yourself, didn’t you. We _have_ to be certain that there isn’t another impostor, or sleeper agent aboard. B – I have the means to ensure that. C – I didn’t change people’s minds, I just looked. D – empathy does the same, _Commander_ , only not so closely. And E – these ‘unspoken rules’ against this are Betazoid, or Vulcan, not Starfleet. And certainly not mine.” She holds up her hand, all fingers up. “I’m fully aware that this was more initiative than you might have wanted, but I don’t think you’re going to ignore the result, are you?” After a moment, she adds, “Admiral.”

“Good of you to remember that last bit, Commander,” Kathryn grates. “Because what I’m about to say is an order, from me to you, make no mistake of that.” She leans forwards, and yes, she aims for dangerousness, now. “Don’t ever do anything like this again.” All eyes are fixed on the healer, though, and when she nods, a little white around her nose, there’s movement again as realization sinks in. “If there’s nothing else,” Kathryn continues, “I would like to see you in my ready room. Now.” Her eyes roam the table, encounter stunned faces, catch the odd wince, the underlying relief. “Dismissed.”

The two of them cross the bridge in silence, and probably with a new speed record, too. Once in her ready room, Kathryn grabs the hypo and orders coffee, gripping both cylinders tightly before taking the first sip, all the while looking quite determinedly at nothing but her replicator. She knows it’s not going to burst into flames from her glare. If it were prone to do that, she would have found out years ago. 

“Lieutenant Commander Kalliste.” She turns around to look at Althea. “I knew you were a… free spirit when you came on board. And while I do like that spark, I won’t tolerate one of my officers to talk to my XO in the way I’ve just heard, not even if she happens to be her wife. Believe me, I know it’s not an easy thing to do, but we do have a command structure aboard this ship, and I expect all my officers to follow its lines, whatever their personal relationships with each other. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Admiral.” Althea’s affirmative comes instantly. 

“Thank you.” Kathryn takes a sip, wondering how to address her second concern. She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Althea straightens even more. “Now, Commander – you have explained what you did and why you did it, so I don’t need to ask you what the hell you were thinking, at least. Still, it does beg the question why you proceeded to do it, even though you were certain enough I’d decline that you didn’t even ask me.”

“It’s easier to ask forgiveness than it is to get permission. Ma’am.” Althea does sound apologetic rather than cheeky. Still.

“For heaven’s sake, Commander, I _know_ you are aware of protocol!”

“I am. As it is, what I just said came from a quite illustrious person in one of Earth’s most famous command structures. And I do ask your forgiveness. Admiral.”

“You’re putting me in a very difficult position, you know.” Kathryn walks past her to stare out of her viewport. “While I have to admit that I appreciate the certainty you’ve offered me, I cannot condone how you arrived by it any less than if you’d stolen the information somewhere. If you’ve been around humans for as long as you claim you have, you should know that we don’t like our minds invaded.” She clenches her teeth for a moment. Too close. _On, Janeway._ But Althea is looking at her in a strange way, when Kathryn turns around to continue.

“Permission to speak freely, Admiral?”

Kathryn cocks an eyebrow. “Granted.”

“In all honesty, I hadn’t expected you to react this way. Neither you personally, nor the other people around the table. I am quite old, it’s true, but…” The healer exhales slowly. “I left Earth centuries ago. The humans I used to be used to, in ancient Greece, _knew_ that their gods, and other beings, could read their thoughts. It was an accepted fact of life. The people on the planet I was on afterwards weren’t… I couldn’t reach their minds, and we didn’t interact a lot. And on the _Enterprise_ …” Althea swallows, looking at her feet. “There was so much to learn. About everything. So much to adapt to. It’s not that they neglected my education, nor that I didn’t pursue my studies diligently enough, but telepathic taboos weren’t really part of the curriculum, neither on board _Enterprise_ nor at the Academy. So, in fact, I wasn’t aware that I’d overstepped quite so far.” 

The healer pauses again, then looks up at Kathryn with determined eyes. “I saw a problem, and knew I had a way of finding the solution. I wondered why you didn’t order me to do it, and as the days progressed, I just… read everyone, bit by bit. It wasn’t until you – well, everyone in the briefing room, really – reacted so strongly that I knew I’d done wrong.” Kathryn sees the healer’s jaw muscles work for the tiniest instant. “As I said, those unspoken rules are cultural taboos in telepathic societies; I’m not that familiar with them. I understand why they’re sensible, after I witnessed the way people reacted, but I wasn’t aware of it beforehand. You have my sincerest apologies, Admiral, and my word that it won’t happen again.”

Her words have Kathryn take a deep breath. “Well. Thank you for being so open about it, Healer. Problem is, even if I can accept your apology, the milk’s spilled. At least with the senior officers. I just hope that my ordering you to never do it again will be enough to reassure them.”

“At first sight, it was,” Althea says slowly, and Kathryn throws her a dark glare. “I’m sorry, Admiral, but I can’t _help_ sensing these things. I’ll try to be more discreet, though. And I’ll do what I can to see that there aren’t any repercussions. Well. Within acceptable boundaries, of course.”

Kathryn sighs. “I guess we’ll have to find a definition of ‘acceptable’. Maybe the Vulcans have a codex.”

Althea gives her a wry smile. “They just might. I know my mother-in-law sure doesn’t.”


	5. Chapter 5

If Marie were telepathic, this door would have opened a long time ago. Or would it? It’s only when she hears someone’s steps approaching along the corridor that Kathryn finally triggers the chime. No, she really doesn’t want to be seen dithering outside her wife’s guest quarters.

“Hey.” Marie’s voice trembles slightly. Kathryn takes a look around the place – small, and bland, not really inviting, but not quite off-putting either. Marie has risen from the table and, quite obviously, doesn’t know what to do with her hands. _Flustered. She’s flustered. Well, she has waited the whole afternoon, probably._ “Something to drink? To eat? Anything?”

“I’m fine, Marie, thank you.” Well, not really, but compared to her wife… _Composure, Janeway._

“Oh. Okay. Uh… do you mind if I…?” At Kathryn’s ready gesture, Marie starts to get herself a cup of tea, then returns to pull out a chair for Kathryn, then blunders back around the table once more. The teacup jingles on its saucer when she turns around, and suddenly she freezes, breathes deeply, smiles a grim little smile. “I’m worse than Reg, for the love of all things jittery.” Another breath, much more deliberate, much calmer. She sets the cup down, but stays standing, one hand on the backrest of her chair. “I’m sorry. Never had such a bad case of nerves before, and it’s not as if you’d brought a phaser, right?” A ghost of her old irreverent smirk crosses her face and tugs at Kathryn’s heart. “You haven’t, have you?”

Kathryn holds up both her hands for inspection, and this time, Marie’s smile is truer. “How have you been?” Kathryn asks her wife.

Marie slides into her chair, one leg folded beneath her as usual. So many of her motions are so familiar to Kathryn, in fact, that the insecurity of the rest of them virtually shouts its vastness to the world. And, watchful as Marie is, she notices the slight wince on Kathryn’s face. For a moment, insecurity commandeers her eyes, then she turns them away. “I’m sorry.” Suddenly, she gives a little laugh, quite humorless. “Which is an answer to your question, too, I suppose. How… how are you, though?”

“Do you want an easy answer or an honest one?”

The question hangs there, but it does bring Marie’s eyes back to Kathryn’s face. Oh, certainly not curtained. Incredulity, doubt, deliberation. Then, almost as an afterthought, another breath. “Honest.” _I can take anything as long as it’s honest,_ Kathryn remembers. 

_So, don’t think too much, Janeway – speak, say what’s on your mind._ “I’m worried, and I want to understand what happened, what’s happening,” she begins, and winces when Baby Janeway kicks, or boxes, and the motion drives home that they still haven’t talked about a name and how… Her hand starts to stroke her belly, to ease the persistent fluttering there. Her other hand waves away Marie’s helplessly solicitous look. “It’s okay. Physically, we’re both fine. All of us.” At least at this, the look on Marie’s face matches Kathryn’s, down to a rising eyebrow – _yeah, right._ “I feel like going into uncharted territory, but not like I usually would. Not curious or excited, you know? Trepidation is the word, I think.”

“A minefield,” Marie whispers, almost too soft to hear. 

“Hell yes.” Kathryn runs her hand through her hair, then across her face, until it comes to rest on her belly again. Marie’s eyes follow it as if hypnotized.

“I love the way you move, you know,” she says, and from the look on her face, these words hit her out of nowhere, as they hit Kathryn.

 _God._ “Shields at thirty percent, Marie.”

A grim smile answers that. “Good simile, that. I’m sorry…” It sounds as if there are more words waiting to be said. It looks like they won’t come out. Then, with a visible jerk, “worrisome, isn’t it?”

“M-hm.” Kathryn leans forward, as much to reach out to her wife as to alleviate the pressure on her lumbar vertebrae. “Still, we’ll need to find a way to come to terms with that. As with… well, logistics.”

“As in, will I stay here and if so, how long?” Kathryn nods, and Marie inhales deeply. “I’ve thought about that, too. Waking up in our quarters, in your arms… it was good, but it also hurt. Being here hurts as well, if differently. And I can’t seem to decide which hurts more.”

“But… why?” _Twenty percent? Fifteen?_ “Marie, why does it hurt to be home?”

“Because I don’t know whether it is!” The shout rings in the enclosed space, and continues ringing in Kathryn’s ears long after the sound waves have died away. 

“Shields down,” she says tonelessly, closing her eyes.

“Mine, too. I’m sorry. God _damn_ it.” The sound of movement, a breath from a different angle – Marie has leaned sharply backwards. Next comes another breath, from behind hands, clapped over a face tilted upwards – Kathryn doesn’t need to look, to know. “I’m sorry. But that’s the long and short of it, you see? I spent weeks, in one dream after another, and… I don’t know what’s real anymore. The only way to find out seems to jump off somewhere or to airlock myself, but… Shit.” A helpless laugh, too close to tears. “This is the nicest one, so far. I’m back on _Voyager_ , you’re still…” This time, it is a sob. “I don’t want this to be another dream. And please don’t say it isn’t; that doesn’t work, you know.” It’s a plea, and Kathryn has to open her eyes. 

“I’m still… what?” Easier to dwell on this than on the image of Marie airlocking herself, an image that hangs before Kathryn’s eyes far too clear for comfort.

“Shield status?” No longer flustered – anxious. 

“Oh, to hell with that, Marie – what is it that I still am?”

It’s Marie who closes her eyes now, but not before Kathryn doesn’t see the pain. Her answer is a long time coming, and as inexorable as self-guided photon torpedoes. “Alive, for starters. Pregnant. My…” a dry swallow, then, in another deathly whisper, “wife.” Another laugh, this one almost manic. “If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up.”

“Marie…” 

“I’m sorry.”

“You dreamt I was dead?”

Again, the answer takes a while. “And that wasn’t even the worst one.” 

“Good heavens, Marie.” Airlocking. Jumping off things. “Change of course?”

“Back to logistics?” Their eyes meet when both of them take a deep breath at the same time, causing both of them to almost smile. “You’ve got a point, I think.” Marie casts her eyes around the room. “I… I honestly have no idea whether I want to stay here or come back with you. And even if I decide I’d rather come, it might feel unfeasible five minutes later. Would… could you live with… a bit of spontaneity, in that regard? At least for tonight?”

“Meaning you come over if you need to?” 

“I won’t ask this of you for long. I hope. I realize that you’d want more certainty, but…” Again, Marie flops back against her chair. “Damnit, this isn’t just wobbly, this is a… I feel like a balloon, you know, when you let it go before you knot it, and it flutters around the room?” Her hand draws a vivid picture. “Certainly no pillar of strength any longer.”

“Well, then don’t try to be. Let me be yours for a change, why don’t you?” Kathryn finds a little smile that feels quite true, and it widens along with Marie’s eyes. “We’re partners, remember?”

The effect of these words is nothing as planned. She couldn’t have hit Marie harder, it seems, if she’d used a Klingon painstick. Chocolate eyes dilate and darken, a mouth drops open, a face exhibits more stunned, shocked pain than Kathryn has ever seen there. _Gutted,_ her mind supplies, _that’s how she looks. Gutted._ Then, for the first time ever, Kathryn sees walls come up, curtains come down, sees emotion drain from her wife’s eyes, to be replaced by a stranger’s gaze. “Marie, what’s wrong?”

“Go.” The sound is harsh, barely a word. 

“Marie, I’m-”

“Go!” This time, it’s much clearer; a shout, cold, high, and dangerous. Shields are no use here, on either side; Marie’s icy fury cuts Kathryn just as deeply as Kathryn’s words, apparently, have wounded her. At the third “Go!”, Kathryn gets up, turns, and leaves, stumbling through the door only to stop in her tracks when she hears heaving through the not-quite-closed halves. _I can’t…_ she’s on the verge of barging back in when Deanna and Althea round the corner at a run. 

“I’ll take care of her,” Althea snaps, squeezing past Kathryn.

Deanna, her voice much gentler, says words that don’t really impact; Kathryn’s too preoccupied with what’s going on behind the now-closed doors to listen to her. 

It’s only when her first officer takes her arm and starts to pull her away that Kathryn whirls around to look at her. “What do you _think_ you’re doing?”

“I’m trying to defuse the situation, Kathryn. And I’m trying to make things easier for my wife, if you must know.”

Kathryn narrows her eyes at this bit of information. “How?”

“Marie’s emotions are an onslaught of… well, everything, basically. And Althea can’t shield against them when she heals someone; not Marie’s, nor yours. So, in the interest of your wife and mine, _please_ come with me, Admiral.”

Kathryn would bet that the use of her rank is deliberate. This is a counselor she’s dealing with. And a counselor would know how to ‘defuse a situation’ like this, wouldn’t she? “Where to?” She lets Deanna lead her towards the turbolift.

“Somewhere more private, I should think,” the half-Betazoid smiles. Kathryn’s head snaps around on cue, back, forth, left, right, but thankfully, they’re alone. “At the moment,” Deanna nods, then adds, with another smile, “and no, I’m not a touch telepath. But _that_ train of thought was quite clear on your face. Deck three.”

The turbolift doors close, which is a good thing, since realizing that Deanna can read her face gets Kathryn thinking how Marie can do the same, how she used to tease… She grits her teeth to keep from crying, or screaming, or both. _Empaths. Get a hold on your emotions, Janeway, for the sake of your officers._

“Don’t,” Deanna says softly, as if she’d heard that one, too.

“Computer, halt turbolift,” Kathryn manages before her knees give out.


	6. Chapter 6

I didn’t sleep in our quarters that night. Alright, so I didn’t sleep in mine, either, but that’s where I _was_ , at least, staring at the wall, turning my back to the row of windows and the rainbows streaking past behind them. 

I’ve never felt this much out of my depth. I’ve never felt this insecure, of anything. Me, rock-solid, dependable, have-it-together, pillar-of-strength Marie, She Who Can Handle Everything. All gone, and I don’t know what to do against it. Well. I don’t know what to do, period. And so my thoughts turn and turn, around and around and in on themselves. I hurt her, and badly, I know that, I saw it. And yet I… ‘We’re partners, remember?’ Hell yes, I do remember. In fact, even now, remembering makes me gag again, for all Althea tried to stop it. I do remember how she who I thought was my wife, whom even my surplus sixth sense told me was my wife, how she suddenly turned out not to be, minutes after she said these exact words to me. 

I’d bared my teeth and inhaled sharply through them, and at least the hiss had stopped the keening that had been coming from my throat. This is a nightmare, I’d thought, not in that I might still be dreaming, but in that I might not be. In that I might have hurt my real wife so badly because I couldn’t help remembering the false one. In that this will go on until I either wake up again somewhere else, or accept this as real. Thinking of how I’d given Kathryn even more to come to terms with, of how she probably had enough on her plate as it is, had woken a wave of self-reproach which had turned into a nice bit of wallowing that I’d hated myself for. 

I’d tried to steer clear of thoughts of ‘what if’. Better not to think at all than to think along those lines. And then, trying to find a way not to think, I’d taken the coward’s way out and walked towards the replicator. 

And now _this_ morning punishes me, and I briefly consider more of yesterday’s strategy before deciding that that’s not a slippery slope, but a sure-fire chute to a place I don’t want to go. I could get used to the numbness, I guess, but… not to how my head feels when the sonic shower comes on. It takes me a while to get it to spout water instead, and that’s punishment, too, much as the sonic tooth-cleanser. Way too close to the center and source of this morning’s pain, it is. I do feel marginally better when my mouth no longer tastes as if something died in there, but not by much. Then the look on Kathryn’s face when I threw her out yesterday returns, and even that bit dissolves. 

I think the word that describes my mood best would be ‘bleak’. But at least it’s no longer a case of ‘crying until I puke’, or ‘nervous breakdown’, so maybe that’s progress. Still, I find I can’t return to where I went with Commander Troi yesterday; to that detached state where I can diagnose myself and see what’s wrong and what’s to be done. I try Tuvok’s meditation techniques, thinking that detachment is so very Vulcan, but they don’t really help, either. Then my door chimes.

“I thought you might want these,” Commander Troi says, carrying a box under her arm when she enters. 

“What is it?”

“Get-well cards that arrived while you were unconscious,” she answers, and somehow her words make that box look more ominous than before. She deposits it on the table and I look at it as if a venomous snake was hidden inside.

“A whole shoebox full? You’re kidding, right?” 

“Well, some of them aren’t cards, strictly speaking, but… yes. Go ahead.” She nods towards the box, apparently quite determined to see me open it. I sigh and comply.

Right on top is a picture Naomi drew. I know that instantly, and that realization is a goddamn blow to my gut. It shows Kathryn and me, holding hands with a child who’s red-haired and brown-eyed and has the words ‘Baby Janeway’ beneath her feet, followed by ‘I hope you get well real soon, Marie. And I hope I can be your babysitter as part of my Admiral’s Assistant’s duties’. My laugh is a little wild, I suppose, but an empath will understand, surely. I leaf through the rest of them; one of Tom and B’Elanna (I could go see them, couldn’t I?), with a not-so-little finger-paint handprint of Miral, and an invitation for flying lessons. One of Noah Lessing, daring me to a duet as soon as I feel better. There’s even one of ch’Vlossen, whom I’ve seen only twice, so far; once at _Voyager’s_ sending-off party, and once when-

I shut down, I suppose. When I’m aware of my surroundings again, I’m on the floor, fingers clenched around one of Deanna’s hands, the Doctor’s sensor in my face. 

“Repressed memories can be quite the little devils,” he greets me, then takes my other hand to help me sit up. “I’m glad to hear you’re working on it, Crewman.” And when that word makes my ears ring again, he has the audacity to tut. “And you did so well. You’ll make a good officer one day, with the right tuition, of course, so you better get used to being called by rank.”

Deanna does nothing to stop him, and part of me approves – I do have to come to terms with it, and the sooner the better. And I can take the Doctor making my ears ring much better than I can take delivering blows to Kathryn’s guts. “I suppose so,” I manage, “if I were thinking of enlisting.”

“Haven’t you heard?” These words, now, reap a warning glance from Deanna, but it’s patently too late, isn’t it.

“Heard what?”

“We thought you might want a task to fulfill,” Deanna takes over, “something to occupy your mind, help you find your feet again.”

Again, part of me knows the wisdom of that, even if it disagrees as to the timing. “Do you think I’m ready for that? And… what did you have in mind?”

They both smile. After a moment, I roll my eyes and relax a little, too – curiosity is a strong force, isn’t it? “There are several possibilities,” the first officer answers. Well, she would know, right? “And you’re right, it does depend on whether or not you feel up to it, but… There’s a lot of work to go round on _Voyager_ right now, and if you feel you can help, it would be greatly appreciated.” I let the warmth of her smile wash over me. It’s so easy to do so, after all, and I wonder if Kathryn realizes the potential of her first officer’s charms. She would, I suppose. “There’s inventory, of course-”

“There’s always inventory,” the Doctor cuts in with a glance heavenwards, and this time, I let my smile run free. He pats my shoulder and turns to leave; I guess I’m out of immediate danger, so. 

“-but we’d be best served, really,” Deanna goes on while the doors shut behind him, “if you could help us supervise the children.”

“Shit, Deanna, I’m mentally unstable and you want me to babysit?” She can’t be serious. 

“Yes, in fact, I do. At the moment, Lieutenants Wildman and Raual and Ensign Gunnarson share that duty, but neither of them has more experience with children than being a parent gives them.”

“Well, good for them, ‘cause I have even less,” I shoot, “I’m a social worker, not a teacher. You of all people should know that there’s a difference!”

“I do,” Deanna replies calmly. “But a nurse, a security officer and an exo-biologist aren’t teachers, either.”

Boy, do I get that. “And of course they’re much more valuable in their _real_ jobs.” 

“True,” she concedes easily. “It’s an offer, for you to take up or decline at your own discretion, at your own timing.”

I know where she’s headed with it. Hell, I’d probably do the same. And yet I yelled at my pregnant wife yesterday – I can’t go yelling at children; they won’t understand even if maybe, hopefully, _God, please,_ Kathryn does. “Maybe in a while,” I tell her. “I’ll think about it.”

“Alright.” Again, her affirmation comes easily. Then she cocks her head. “Do you want me to fill you in on what’s happening?”

“Just don’t make me faint again,” I manage, and she dares to grin. Then she proceeds to tell me of a ship that’s supposed to arrive within a few days, of a ‘home base’ _Voyager_ is ordered to travel to, and of what I can only call malware in _Voyager’s_ systems, and how everyone is pulling together in their effort to get rid of it before this ship arrives. 

“I can see where you’d need your officers,” I comment when she’s finished. Even Sam, though she certainly started out as an exo-biologist, is much more the systems specialist than I’ll ever be. A lot on Kathryn’s plate indeed. Everyone’s, really. 

“I can see how you would,” she smiles back. “Why don’t you have a look before you decide? I can show you to the classroom and you can meet the kids – the few of them you don’t know, that is. Miral has loved you from the start; Yann and Andrea will be excited, I’m certain of that, and I know for a fact that Naomi would like to see you.”

“And I could thank her for her card.” It’s transparent, what she does, and yet I can’t help but respond to it. 

“Marie, I realize that there’s a part of you that’s able to see all this for what it is,” she says, and again, I wonder if she’s telepathic or just incredibly good at her job. “By much the same line of reasoning I’m also sure that there’s a part of you that knows it’s a good idea to find something productive to occupy your mind with, instead of endlessly turning thoughts. Beverly used to tease me something dreadful about therapists being the worst kind of patients short of doctors, but I think differently, you know. You’re able to step apart and watch yourself, and I’m asking you to keep doing that.”

“Didn’t quite work yesterday, did it.” She left with Kathryn, and I’m certain she knows what’s happened. 

“Deities, Marie, be patient, will you?” Her mouth, crinkling, teases me. “You’ll need to find a line between pushing yourself and going easy on yourself. And I’m sure you will, and soon. We all know that, and we’ll help as much as we can.”

“We all? Don’t tell me this-” my hand flaps around the room helplessly, “-is public knowledge?” I take one look at her resigned face and sigh. “Admiral’s wife, eh.”

“And a friend to a lot of people aboard,” she adds, looking pointedly at the box of cards. “You should probably know that people won’t be able to afford you much leeway, though, what with the situation we’re in.”

“Yeah, you need people who function.” I realize what I’ve just said (and the tone in which I’ve said it) when she looks at me as if I’ve proven her point. Which I have, I suppose. “Sorry.”

“No problem.”

“And that’s exactly what you meant,” I say with a small smile that grows when she returns it. You can’t help but like her. If it is her. God, how I wish this particular thought would stop raising its ugly head whenever I let down my guard. Still. I set my jaw, thinking that I can push myself a little, still. “Give me a few minutes to freshen up and I’ll be ready to meet the kids.”

“Gladly.”

* * *

It’s too warm. B’Elanna doesn’t seem to mind, but to Kathryn, it’s definitely too warm in here. Still, setting up the monitoring panel (or switchboard, as Tom had christened it) in the main computer access room had been the sensible choice. No one ever comes here, after all, precisely because most people find it too warm, and because, really, the computer core can be accessed from anywhere, as it were. But for the temperature, it’s a nice place, though; calm and seemingly light years removed from anything. Which is precisely why Kathryn has asked if she could lend B’Elanna a hand in finalizing the work on the switchboard.

“I won’t tell anyone if you took off your jacket, you know,” B’Elanna says suddenly, winking at Kathryn.

“Good grief, Lieutenant, am I that obvious?”

“As a matter of fact, Admiral, that’s exactly what you are.” Her rank gets only the slightest bit of emphasis, but still enough to make Kathryn replay the last two sentences in her head.

“God, I’m sorry, B’Elanna,” she sighs. “I do appreciate your offer.” She shakes her head at herself, then shrugs out of her jacket, sighing again, this time with relief, and returning her chief engineer’s smile. “I guess I’m a little preoccupied at the moment. I just hope-” she waves her hand around the room.

“Oh, your work is impeccable as usual, don’t worry.” B’Elanna hesitates for a moment, then pats Kathryn’s shoulder reassuringly, with an air of camaraderie that speaks eloquently of their almost eight years of acquaintance, and of how close the two of them have become along the way. “As for the rest, well… everyone would be, I guess. How’re you holding up?”

A friend’s question, and not the first. It’s strange, isn’t it, that the advance in rank has somehow coincided with allowing more closeness. Then again, it’s not her rank bars that have made Kathryn more accessible, right? For a moment – for a brief, wonderful moment – Kathryn allows herself to enjoy the sheer satisfaction of a command that feels right, from the ship she’s commanding to the people she serves with right down to the mission they’re on; a mission that’s as challenging, after all, as it is unsettling. Then her thoughts stop dwelling on the solicitous way B’Elanna is looking at her, and return to what the young engineer has asked. _Don’t think of her as young, Janeway. A mother, and an incredibly experienced officer, that’s Lieutenant B’Elanna Torres. Third pip after this? Would be quite soon after her reinstatement, but… good grief, Janeway, stop deviating._

“Can’t say I’m fine, really.” They share a grin. Captain Kathryn ‘I’m fine’ Janeway. Oh, Kathryn knows her nicknames. Spend seven years in close proximity and people will know your ticks. Some probably did in under one year, even – Chakotay and Tuvok, certainly, and Tom Paris, too; he’d always been a keen observer. That particular one, her usual reaction to the Doctor’s usual enquiries and proddings, is one that _Voyager’s_ medic had got to have noticed. B’Elanna too, apparently. “Holding up is a good way to put it, in fact.” Kathryn straightens after connecting the last conduit to the panel she’s working on, getting out the diagnostic tool to double-check her work. “I try to keep busy,” she tells the blinking cables, “but every evening, going off-duty just… looms. Somehow it was easier to go down to sickbay-” she breaks off, mortified, then feels B’Elanna’s hand on her arm again and bites back tears.

“It’ll be alright,” B’Elanna says. “You’re both fighters, the two of you. And you’re fighting side by side, not with each other. I don’t think that there’s anything or anyone as can stop you if you continue to do that. Like Kortar and his mate.” She grins lopsidedly, then with more assurance at seeing her words impact. “Did you know it’s becoming ship-wide legend how she carried you through that holo-ship? None of my devising, of course, but it’s making the rounds. People think it’s quite romantic.”

“God, B’Elanna, don’t tell me it’s-”

“Well, _I_ think it’s sweet,” the half-Klingon interrupts her, teasing and defiance in her voice, then turns back to the interface she’s working on. “And of course, being gallantly rescued is never easy, but we proud women warriors can choose to accept it when it’s done by the one we love, right?”

“Tell _her_ that,” Kathryn breathes, then does a double-take at the thought. But it still rings true, even after repeating it several times in her head. _Marie would never let herself be rescued, either…_ but that’s part of the problem, isn’t it? 

B’Elanna doesn’t continue her line of conversation, thankfully, and the next minutes are spent in blessed silence, apart from the occasional request for a tool, or wince at a twanging muscle, the latter coming from Kathryn, mostly. “There,” the chief engineer says after a while, replacing the last panel, “that’s it for over here. How’re you coming along? Need help?” 

“I’m fine,” Kathryn replies without thinking, and it takes her a second to understand why B’Elanna bursts out laughing. 

“Just gimme that and sit back, why don’t you,” B’Elanna tells her, voice brooking no argument. “Your back must be a private little piece of Sto-Vo-Kor, with you sitting like this.” She takes the decoupler from Kathryn’s unresisting hand and winks at her commanding officer’s heartfelt sigh. “I know _that_ feeling.”

“Thanks, B’Elanna.” Baby Janeway is at it again, and her kicking is unbalancing. Kathryn plops back heavily, on her way to sitting down. “I swear I’ve never felt so clumsy,” she growls, rubbing her backside. 

“That one, too.” Even though B’Elanna’s halfway inside the console, Kathryn can hear her smile. “Funny, isn’t it, how I suddenly can give you advice on something? It’s always been the other way round. I’d certainly never have thought…” Her face appears, looking supremely awkward. “I’m sorry. That was out of line. Forget-”

“Go on, B’Elanna, please.” _Don’t stop talking like a friend. God knows I need one._

“Well, I’d never imagined you having a baby, for some reason.” Satisfied at what she sees in Kathryn’s face, B’Elanna crawls back into the console’s stand. “In the beginning, when we thought it would take us all these decades to get back, people talked of having kids to man the ship, of course. It peaked again after we met Kohlar and his people, but for some reason, no one ever envisioned you, or Chakotay for that matter, to ‘join the effort’, as it were. A lot of people thought…” Again, her head comes up. It reminds Kathryn of a puppet show. A little. 

“They thought we were a couple, and if anything, we’d procreate together?” B’Elanna’s turn for a double-take now, and Kathryn’s to grin. “I’m not that blind nor deaf, you know.”

“Well, yeah,” B’Elanna replies, looking a little guilty. “Not that it’s my place to speculate.”

“He never said anything to you?”

“Never.” B’Elanna, apparently finished, crawls around the console to lean back against it, facing Kathryn, decoupler dangling loosely from one hand. “And for the longest time, I thought he didn’t have to. I thought it was all… straightforward. Weird, but straightforward. That you loved each other, but chose to stay apart, for the sake of getting us home.” She bites her lip, and Kathryn hides a smile. Really, these are the words of a friend, even if the half-Klingon’s openness is still tentative. Then B’Elanna surprises her by barreling on, full steam ahead. “I can’t tell you how much I ached for you; everyone who thought the same did. But it was part of us, part of the way things were.”

“The _Voyager_ way,” Kathryn agrees, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. The tabloids had coined the phrase, but the _Voyager_ family (another one, that had shared the same fate) had appropriated it, made it uniquely, irrevocably their own. When B’Elanna doesn’t go on, Kathryn’s eyebrow hoists one eye open, to see immense curiosity coming her way. “I’m glad that you didn’t think I was stringing him along.”

“A lot of people did.” And Kathryn knows that very well, too. “I hovered, at the beginning, to tell you the truth. But, you know…” B’Elanna’s renewed hesitation makes Kathryn’s head come up fully. “You’re not the only one who spent sleepless hours walking the ship’s corridors, or watching the warp engine. I saw you. Often.” B’Elanna falls silent for a moment, thinking. _Probably debating what else she can safely tell me._ “Your faith in me, the way you held up through whatever the Delta Quadrant threw at you… it all made me respect you, you see, but I never once saw you as superhuman, the way some of us did. Not when I’d seen that look on your face, in the wee hours in engineering. You were as haunted by your demons as any of us were. More, probably.”

“And you’re good at keeping other people’s secrets, I see.”

B’Elanna shrugs. “Wasn’t anybody’s business but your own.” Then a grin spreads on her face. “Made me damn protective of you for a while, too. I was so happy for you when you found Marie. I mean, you were never anything but happy for Tom and me, and you must have been-” again, she catches herself.

“Too late to stop now, B’Elanna,” Kathryn waves a weary hand. “Of course I was envious. And I suppose I wasn’t the only one. But that’s what friends are for, right? To not begrudge them happiness that you, for one reason or another, don’t have.” 

“No one would have begrudged you happiness, Cap- uh, Ad-”

“Try Kathryn,” Kathryn says dryly. Apparently, Tom isn’t the only one prone to that particular lapse.

“Well, it’s not really the same – I mean to say, no one would have begrudged the captain happiness. If you know what I mean.”

“I do.” And the knowledge, even if it’s not really new, is still bittersweet, after all this time. “Thank you, B’Elanna.” Kathryn leans forward and holds out a hand. She almost withdraws it when she realizes how dirty it’s gotten, but B’Elanna’s already mirroring her motion, taking her fingers in a surprisingly gentle grip. She even squeezes before pulling Kathryn up with her, and once more after they’re standing again. 

“Are we done here, then?” the half-Klingon asks, an ironic little twist around her mouth.

“I guess we are.”

~~~

“Marie has agreed to sit in on Lieutenant Wildman when she supervises the kids,” Deanna tells Kathryn over their morning coffee in the ready room next day. “You didn’t see each other again last night, did you?”

“No,” Kathryn sighs. Even if the conversation with B’Elanna had bolstered her strength, it hadn’t quite been enough to seek her wife out. It doesn’t really help that she’s feeling lonelier now than when Marie was still unconscious – and Kathryn really, really needs to push that thought away. Damned weepiness.

“Good,” Deanna nods, thankfully distracting her.

“Good?”

“By the Four Deities, Kathryn, you’re both too pushy for your own good, you realize that, don’t you. The situation is far too volatile to warrant barging in. With all due respect.” The smile on the first officer’s face is quite a ways from deferential, though. 

“Well, with all due respect, Commander-” damnit, but that smile never changes, “and though I get your point: I do have, quite apart from my private concerns, a ship to run and a conspiracy to unearth.” And a good thing that her XO is an empath who can tell how divided Kathryn feels, otherwise those words would sound far too cold. 

As if on cue, ch’Vlossen calls them to the bridge. 

“Status,” Kathryn calls out, sinking to her chair and closing all doors on the way. 

“There are two vessels approaching, both with Starfleet signatures.”

“Two?” Kathryn raises her eyebrows and looks at Troi, then beyond her to ops. “Please notify our ‘casualties’, Lieutenant. Any hails yet?”

“No, Admiral,” Daurannen answers. 

“Well, seems it’s our turn, then. Commander, can you tell which-”

“Affirmative, Admiral. It’s the _Hood_ and the _Enterprise_. They’re dropping to impulse right now.” Troi’s eyebrows rise now, too, and Kathryn feels just as curious.

“Hail them both as soon as our casualties are hidden,” she tells Daurannen.

It barely takes a minute. “Three-way communication established, ma’am.”

“Admiral, it’s good to see you,” Picard’s smooth voice answers immediately, with DeSoto coming on the chorus a few seconds later. “You had us worried, you know.”

“Is that why there’s a Sovereign _and_ an Excelsior-class ship coming to rescue helpless little me?” Kathryn quips. 

“Starfleet sent us to look for you, Admiral,” DeSoto replies, “and when we ran into this old Frenchman, I just couldn’t keep him from coming along. I, personally, don’t doubt that he’s just trying to reap the glory, as usual.”

“Gentlemen, you should know there’s no glory to be reaped when _Voyager’s_ involved. We do quite well on our own, even if…” Kathryn debates for a fraction of a second, but while she’s certain Jean-Luc isn’t part of this conspiracy, she has no idea of DeSoto, or anyone under either captain’s command. “We did run into a spot of trouble, but it’s nothing we can’t handle.”

“Handle is one thing, efficiency another,” Picard smiles. “Anything we can do to assist?”

“Our subspace communications are down, but we’re working on it. As for the rest… we’re fine, thank you.” And if it were anyone else asking than Starfleet’s most famous captain, they’d get much more of a chewing for asking.

“Of course. But you see, I have a chief engineer over here who’s jolly near dying to have a closer peek at your ship. Ah well.” Picard smiles again. “I’ll just tell him to keep looking through his viewport.”

“You know…” Kathryn returns his smile. Her thoughts, treacherous as they are, are already whispering a plan into her ears. “I was about to invite you over – seems only polite since you came this far to look out for us. So by all means, bring him along. In fact, we’re getting used to hosting crowds by now, so what would you say to lunch aboard my ship? The two of you, your senior officers, mine… almost intimate, compared to the throng we had while orbiting Betazed.”

“Gladly,” DeSoto is quick to accept. Too quick? 

Picard echoes him, they arrange to beam over at 1200 hours, and the instant they sign off, Daurannen contacts the mess hall team (a necessity on diplomatic ships, Kathryn has learned, and smack in Daurannen’s chain of command, too) with more details than Kathryn has ever thought to think about. Vegetarian options, food suitable for non-humans, seating arrangements – it’s a rapid-fire stream of instructions, and Kathryn smiles to herself, feeling variously reminded of Neelix, her first officer’s mother, and Ellie. 

By now, after two months of hosting diplomatic events, it’s become apparent that Daurannen, with her uncanny ability to keep track of even the smallest minutiae, is the prime candidate for this bit of _Voyager’s_ duties; enough so, certainly, that Kathryn has immediately and fully delegated that particular task to the lieutenant. _To think that she expressed a liking for physics as her hobby,_ Kathryn thinks wryly. _Not that I don’t understand the fascination of that, of course, but I_ am _glad that she’s even better at organizing._

“Briefing room, everybody,” Kathryn calls out when the lieutenant is through with her list. 

No one bats an eye when she doesn’t sit down, but stands behind her chair, rolling her spinal cord once more. “We’ll proceed as planned, ladies and gentlemen. Treat our guests with all due hospitality, but don’t reveal anything; retreat to the good old standby that we’re responsible for and just maybe a little bit embarrassed about our ship’s systems’ failure.” Kathryn looks at her first officer. “Commander, you know the _Enterprise’s_ crew very well.” She leaves the question unsaid, but everyone, telepath or no, can hear it.

“Personally, I don’t think any of the senior officers would conspire to get ahold of _Voyager_ and her technology,” Deanna replies instantly. “I really can’t say for the new counselor; I don’t know him that well, but as to the rest of them…” she shakes her head decisively, “never.”

“I agree.” Althea looks troubled, but equally definite. 

“Admiral…” ch’Vlossen’s deep bass is hesitant. “As head of security, I see it as my duty to suggest that we might make use of the healer’s talent again when we have the _Hood’s_ and _Enterprise’s_ senior staff onboard.”

“I see your point, Commander,” Kathryn says, “but I don’t think that’s warranted yet. We’ll go on as planned. Lieutenants, what’s the status of our little scheme?”

“The dampening fields on decks seven and eight are up and stable, and the secondary sensor hardware is fully operable throughout the ship, Admiral,” B’Elanna begins, then looks at Daurannen with a nod. 

“Each bridge and engineering console can be switched with a shortcut, and you can do the same individually and ship-wide from your console, Admiral,” Daurannen takes up the report. “We’ve changed the flashing frequency to signal which set is active at which moment; it’s a tad slower than usual when it’s the wrong one. If anyone should comment, we can say it’s because the systems are overloaded.”

“Excellent.” Kathryn knew about the shortcut – everybody had had to learn it, after all – but the idea of slowing down the frequency is ingenious. And she likes the fact that her officers have tied in her console. “The photonic pulse?” She looks at the Doctor and Tom expectantly.

“The rooms we agreed on are rigged, Admiral,” Tom answers, “and we’ve started on cargo bay two for mass scanning. We can concentrate our efforts on the mess hall, though, if you want us to; if you lend us a few ensigns for the crawlwork,” he looks at his wife, “we should be done before people get there.”

“Do it.” Again, Kathryn watches smiles bloom all around her – these words, and their impact, are just another instrument, but a cherished one. “I expect to see all of you in the mess hall in three hours. Standard duty uniforms will do this time; Daurannen, send a note to Picard and DeSoto. Dismissed.”


	7. Chapter 7

“I hope you’ll forgive me for not meeting you in the transporter room, Jean-Luc.” Standing just inside the mess hall’s entrance, Kathryn greets the _Enterprise’s_ captain warmly, delighting when he pulls her near for a kiss on the cheek, delighting even more when his eyes widen slightly at the unexpected expanse of her waist. 

“Of course, Kathryn. Your assistant performed the task admirably.” He smiles at Naomi who takes this as a hint to return to the classroom, and returns his hazel gaze to Kathryn. “Congratulations are in order, it seems?”

“If you must,” she replies dryly.

DeSoto’s much less restrained than Picard; he goggles openly for a heartbeat, then catches himself. “Please allow me to add mine, Admiral,” he chimes up, hand outstretched.

“Thank you, Captain. If you’d please follow me – I’ve been assured that my staff has provided place cards for your officers, too. Thanks, by the way, for not insisting on protocol for the beam-over. My head of ops was having nightmares trying to figure out the order of precedence.”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” DeSoto laughs, “what does it matter if we get to see famous _Voyager_ a few seconds later? And her famous CO, of course. Ah, Commander Troi, it’s good to see you again – I’ve heard of your transfer; of course you look fantastic in red, but then, I’ve always said we need more good people in red. Admiral, you had one of your old crew switch from ops to command, right?” 

Kathryn gladly sings Harry’s praises while watching, from the corner of her eye, Picard and ch’Vlossen put their heads together – Daurannen has placed Kathryn’s third-in-command next to _Enterprise’s_ captain, but neither Troi nor Riker seem to mind, nor DeSoto’s XO. Well, Riker is sitting framed by DeSoto and Deanna, and from what Deanna’s said about serving with him on the _Enterprise_ , the proximity to her is right up his alley. DeSoto’s first officer, a female Andorian, sits next to ch’Vlossen, and things continue like that down both sides of the table, merrily mixed and with connections too subtle to make out on first, or sometimes even second sight. 

Take the Doctor, for example. He’s three seats away from either the _Enterprise’s_ or the _Hood’s_ CMO – on the other hand, he is talking animatedly to his neighbors: both ships’ chief engineers, and to Data, even if he has to vie with B’Elanna for the latter’s attention. And Kathryn really isn’t sure if the attitude he’s exhibited towards other doctors in the past would go down well with Beverly Crusher or Carter Greyhorse, long-standing doctors of good repute as they are. Really, Daurannen is a dab hand at placing people.

Then the kitchen’s transporter materializes the first course on each person’s plate, to oohs and ahs all around, and Kathryn rises for a few quick words.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” no need to include other forms of address, Daurannen had briefed her as they’d walked down, “welcome aboard _Voyager_ , and thanks for coming to our aid. As you can see, we’re not quite that far down on our luck,” she gestures to the full plates and pauses for the chuckles, “but we appreciate your help, and your company. You’ve already witnessed our first gizmo, as Mister Chell calls it,” she nods over to the beaming Bolian, “which saves our kitchen staff as much running around as it drains our transporter energy. But, since we’re back from the Delta Quadrant, that’s no longer a prime concern – and, what’s more, I’ve been informed by our chef that all of the dishes have been carefully prepared to contain no form of leola root whatsoever. And as much as I want to drink to that, though, I really should toast the spirit of helpfulness and camaraderie that brought not only one, but two ships to this godforsaken part of space. To gallantry!” 

Glasses rise, voices echo her, and talk resumes, around various forms of entrée. _Voyager’s_ crewmembers, used to this by now, readily explain that they’re perfectly willing to share and compare, and soon there’s a lively trade of canapés and other bites and morsels. It does get people talking, and for the umpteenth time, Kathryn silently thanks Chell for coming up with that idea. His staff, as usual, stand by to refill glasses, answer questions on the food, offer tastings of leola root to disbelievers, and generally keep people from eating things that wouldn’t agree with them. All told, it is, once again, as smooth a function as Kathryn could hope for, right down to the incredibly tasty carrot-and-ginger soup in front of her.

Still, she’d wish Marie were here. She’d love to see Jean-Luc again, wouldn’t she? Meet his officers, and the _Hood’s_? Dazzle them, and Kathryn, with her laughter? Probably not, at the moment, Kathryn has to concede, but it doesn’t stop her from wishing for her wife’s company. 

“You’re quiet, Kathryn.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Jean-Luc,” she smiles at the honest worry in his eyes. “The last few days have been exhausting, and much as I want to, everyone, including me at times, agrees that I can’t power through a pregnancy the way I thought I could. Damn exasperating. Makes me wish I’d known beforehand.”

“Would it have stopped you?” The slightest of smiles plays around his lips.

“Not for a skinny minute.” It breaks out in earnest, and she answers it, glad for his easy company and the fact that DeSoto is talking animatedly to Riker, apparently over the benefits of being in command. Picard’s next words quite put a stop to that gladness, though.

“How’s Marie?”

Her smile stays where it is, but Kathryn’s certain he can see the front it’s rapidly becoming. “It’s difficult,” she answers after a while, bowing her head. True, that. “Not between the two of us, as such,” she adds, anxious that he should understand correctly. “But…” her eyes leave his, to roam the room. 

“You know,” he says lightly, “I really should reciprocate your invitation with one of my own, Admiral. I don’t have a kitchen as refined as yours, but I wouldn’t hesitate to offer you the services of my trusted replicator. And a bottle of Chateau Picard to take home with you, provided you promise to drink to the baby’s health with it.” Which amounts, in one of the best examples of diplomatic parlance Kathryn’s ever heard, to saying ‘care for a one-on-one talk?’

“Gladly, Captain.” 

“Tonight at 2000?”

“If _Voyager_ can spare me,” Kathryn rolls her eyes, then joins his smile again.

“The offer still stands, you know. Geordi has offered to help repeatedly, as has Data. Whatever ails your ship, I’m certain they can speed up the recovery.” 

“I appreciate it. I’m certain the two of them are talking to my chief engineer about it right now.” She nods down to where they sit, deep in conversation. “Or maybe about our Aeroshuttle,” she grants after thinking it over. “Or about cybernetics.”

“Who knows what engineers talk about?” Picard agrees with a mysterious twist to his eyes. “Probably beats the spiel DeSoto’s giving Riker, though. I know for a fact that Will’s heard that one too often.”

“Maybe not often enough,” Kathryn smirks. “I remember his boasts at the academy, of beating Kirk’s record for youngest captain. As it was, _I_ beat _him_ to lieutenant, even if I was still in sciences at that time. You wouldn’t believe how he tried to lord it over me once he drew even. More so when he heard that I’d changed to command division.”

“I’m sure you were quick to put him to rights.”

“Well, I didn’t have to, did I – look at him. Here he is, a greying commander…”

Jean-Luc picks up her words when she, modestly, declines to go on. “And you’re the youngest admiral Starfleet’s ever seen, and not a hair of white on your head.”

“Flattery, Jean-Luc, flattery.” Then, feeling audacious with memories of her wife, she adds, “Marie would say one could say the same of you, you know.”

He throws his head back to laugh, drawing a fair share of eyes. “She would.”

* * *

I can see, from the right-most window, the two huge starships hanging in space in front of us. Sam’s told me their names, and that the crew is entertaining their senior staffs right now, and thus I know Jean-Luc Picard is aboard _Voyager_ and I’m not there to greet him. It feels strange, and Sam looks at me in a strange way, too, but when I imagine smiling at people and shaking hands, I’m quite relieved to be down here. Deck seven, off to port – these used to be crew quarters, but now they’re _Voyager’s_ classroom, positioned here in order to grant the kids a good view when _Voyager’s_ orbiting a planet. A good idea, too, not that I’ve seen it so far. 

Andrea and Yann are the stars of the moment, of course, with their tales of growing up on the flagship. The predecessor of the one in front of our bow, truth be told, but still, they know enough of this one’s crew to still make it interesting for us. This happens quite often – not telling tales, but sharing knowledge with the others, instead of someone standing in front and preaching. There are seven kids, their ages ranging from Miral’s nine months to Mick Carey at fourteen, even though there’s quite a gap between Miral and the next eldest: Magnus Jorisson, a five-year-old who deeply resents that Naomi, only one year his senior, is allowed to do so much more (like escorting two captains to the mess hall) because she’s farther ahead by virtue of her hybrid biology. Good thing they both have parents teaching, or Magnus would have even more cause to grumble: Joris Gunnarson is his father, an ensign from Security who looked vaguely familiar when Deanna and I visited yesterday. 

After Naomi come seven-year-old Yann, a Vulcan boy of eight called Sennek, Andrea who’s ten, and finally Mick, nephew of Joseph Carey and smack in the middle of puberty. All nice and well-mannered, even Mick if he remembers to be, and still I feel myself hesitating to agree to work with them. Sam says my presence helps, what with having two extra hands around, but, in all honesty, it works the other way round, too. 

Sam has greeted me with as much enthusiasm as Naomi, Yann and Andrea had, in fact, and Miral’s arms around my neck had been balm for my soul, tacky as that sounds. So far, I’ve read a story, and apparently I’m pretty good at ‘doing the voices’, and otherwise I’ve been sitting right among them, listening to Andrea and Yann and tales of the _Enterprise_ , and trying not to think that a year from now, our daughter will be as old as Miral is now.

* * *

“Are you up to a bit of walking?” Jean-Luc greets Kathryn when she rematerializes on the flagship. “We could transport to my quarters if you’re not. I’d thought I’d ask, you know.”

For a moment, Kathryn’s tempted. Incredibly, infuriatingly, almost irresistibly tempted. Then she bravely lifts her chin, takes Jean-Luc’s arm and bids him lead, regretting her decision when already the first corridor seems to curve endlessly.

The turbolift is a reprieve, at least. “I never appreciated how easy to reach things are on _Voyager_ ,” Kathryn tells her escort. “It takes about a minute from my quarters to the bridge, four if I take the Jeffries tube instead of the turbolift.”

Jean-Luc’s eyebrow climbs his forehead excruciatingly slowly while he draws out the moment for maximum effect. Then he admits, “I’m curious as to how you found _that_ out.”

Kathryn rewards his efforts with a smile. “I was curious myself, really. It was during my first weeks aboard _Voyager_ , and I wanted to know how to get up there without the benefit of turbolifts, so I figured out the deck plans and went ahead.”

“And timed yourself.”

“Of course I did,” she laughs. “I’m a scientist. What’s the use of finding out how to get to the bridge that way without finding out how long it takes at the same time?”

“Thankfully, my curiosity has never burned quite that brightly,” Jean-Luc replies when they step off the lift. “Although I did get to know the Galaxy-class _Enterprise_ quite intimately. I haven’t been down every tube on this one yet, for all that I captain her since ’72. Not even every corridor, if I’m not mistaken.”

“No one says you have to.”

“Well, at least I know this one well enough to be able to tell you we’re here.” He disentangles his arm to put it on the small of her back, urging her forwards. “Welcome, Kathryn. Anything I can get you? An aperitif? Tea? Coffee?”

“A cup of tea would be a blessing, thank you.”

“Earl Grey?”

“By all means,” she smiles at him, then adds, “with cream, please; I’m feeling indulgent. By much the same token, would you mind if I-” she gestures at the low stool in front of the sofa he’s led her to. 

“Not at all,” he says, returning with two steaming cups. “I might even join you, if protocol allows.”

“To hell with protocol,” Kathryn drawls, putting up her feet and reveling in the sensation of weight lifted. “As long as it stays between the two of us, of course.”

He raises his now-empty hands. “Wouldn’t dream of gossiping.”

“Didn’t have you down as someone who would, Jean-Luc.”

“Thanks.” Taking his first sip, he closes his eyes briefly, as if to acknowledge the simple pleasures of life. There’s a twinkle in the hazel when he opens them again. “I know for a fact, though, that admirals are worse than washerwomen.” 

“Is that so?” Kathryn turns her head lazily to better look at him, sipping from her own cup while she does. Earl Grey is subtly different from Darjeeling; enough so to be interesting, not enough to put her off. Then she briefly wonders if it’s only due to her heightened sense of smell that it’s this much of a difference at all, and resolves to make another test run postpartum.

He nods, reminding her that she’s asked something. “Standing order, apparently.”

“Must’ve passed me by. It’s probably somewhere on my desk.” Kathryn likes the easy rapport with him. Oh, she’d been star-struck when they’d first met, true enough, but Marie’s teasing, Kathryn’s mortification at it, and the good humor with which Jean-Luc had born it had quickly cured Kathryn of any thoughts of pedestals. He’d been amazing with Seven. He’d been a wonderful guest at both weddings. He’s quickly becoming someone Kathryn considers a friend.

“Gossip has it, at least the few bits of it that reach our ears out here, that you were attacked while in orbit around Arcadia.” He sounds almost tentative, as if rueful to bring this up at all.

“Oh?” Well, the Arcadians probably _did_ have a new subspace relay by now.

“I have it on the best authority, too, that something happened that roused your suspicions of a certain group of individuals.”

“You what?!” Feet off the stool, sit forward, grope to rescue teacup. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been so circumspect.” He taps his combadge. “Picard to Chakotay.”

“Chakotay here,” a very familiar voice answers.

Picard smiles slightly at Kathryn’s open-mouthed stare. “Would you and Seven please come to my quarters?”

“On our way, Captain.”

Seven. Protocol Drillerpiffe. _Of course._ Shake head, take slow sips of tea to steady nerves, rush to feet to embrace- “Chakotay!”

“It’s good to see you too, Admiral.” His arms around her are steady and warm, and part of her really, really doesn’t want to break the hug. Her breath hitches, and he, damn him, notices. “Everything alright?”

“No,” she says curtly, pulling away from his hands on her shoulders, as much to escape his scrutiny as to embrace Seven of Nine. 

“Care to tell us?” he says lightly, in his tone of voice reserved for seeing Kathryn Janeway run on the last of her reserve.

So tell she does. It takes a while, and several re-starts, elaborations, and deviations, but at long last, the whole assortment of ugly and disgraceful facts sit out in the open, starting with a trip to Earth in _Voyager’s_ Aeroshuttle to pick up a passenger, and ending with the four of them sitting in the _Enterprise’s_ captain’s quarters. Kathryn leaves out Marie’s present condition, though. And she can’t quite decide whether she does it because it’s not relevant to the situation, or whether it’s simply too, too painful.

Picard runs a hand down the side of his face, then gets up to replicate another round of tea, and water for Seven. “That’s even worse than what I feared,” he says, handing out the cups and glass. “I’m quite certain there’s no impostor or an agent aboard the _Enterprise_ , but I don’t have a telepath to tell me. And it’s easier to hide in a crew of over seven hundred than in one of a hundred and …” he looks at Kathryn, prompt in his eyes.

“Fourteen,” she tells him.

“Still, I’d vouch for my senior officers,” he replies, and Kathryn nods. 

“So did my first officer and her wife.” Chakotay’s head perks up when he hears the rank, and now it’s Kathryn’s turn to smile. “Curious how she’s faring?”

“Spirits, yes.”

“Tit for tat, Commander. You tell me how on Earth the two of you landed here, I’ll tell you about Commander Troi.”

He takes a sip of tea, eyes twinkling. “Fair enough, I suppose. You do remember that Captain Picard was part of the panel that discussed the Borg threat with Seven.”

“Chakotay. I’ve been before the panel myself, to add my two cents’ worth.” 

He ducks his head and grins at the forbearance of his former captain’s words. “Of course you were – blame it on my lack of information; they never let _me_ in on it.” He sets down his cup and steeples his fingers between his knees. “After they were done, they asked Seven to become a member of a permanent task force.”

“I declined,” Seven speaks up for the first time since greeting Kathryn. “I had already given them all information I had,” she elaborates, “it didn’t seem efficient to reiterate endlessly.”

“Captain Picard offered both of us a position on his ship, as civilian advisors,” Chakotay picks up the thread. “Seven works with the _Enterprise’s_ astrometric department – Icheb, too, by the way. And I’m an advisor on first contact situations, working with the department of cultural sciences and anthropology.”

“You have a department of cultural sciences and anthropology?” Kathryn asks Jean-Luc, a little wide-eyed. 

“You’re looking at fifty percent of it,” he replies dryly. “But yes, I do.”

“ _I_ should have one,” she speculates, looking at her former XO with a finger tapping her lip.

“Get in line, Admiral.” Jean-Luc is adept at imitating her drawl, she has to give him that. He even brandishes a finger at her, and it… well, he probably meant to make her smile. He can’t know…

“Hormones,” she manages after a moment, reaching for the little packet of tissues in her pocket. “Join me in blaming hormones, will you.” She can’t look at Chakotay, knowing what she’ll encounter in his eyes – she can’t look at any of them, really. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, Kathryn. I’m sure we all know how that fee- well, um… alright, so I can’t say I have much experience of being pregnant, but…” Chakotay laughs, suddenly, and just like that, the room seems lighter. “Do you blame them for your lack of sleep, too?” She levels a look at him that would send lesser men scrambling. At least she still can manage that, but he? He just shrugs. Seven years of exposure will do that, apparently. “I recognize those shadows,” he nods at her eyes. “They’re like old, old acquaintances that you can’t really call friends.”

Jean-Luc suddenly laughs, a soft sound that’s almost startling from him. “And here I always thought it’s only _my_ first officer who’s a mother hen. Did they instate a course on clucking at the Academy while I wasn’t looking?” Then he focuses his hazel eyes on Chakotay’s brown ones. “You better get unused to it, Commander. I’ve spent years weaning Will of it, I won’t do the same with you.”

Chakotay looks at Kathryn almost guiltily, and for a moment she wonders why, until Jean-Luc’s words unfold their meaning. “You…” 

The smile that spreads on his face is the most light-hearted thing she’s seen in days. Weeks, really. “Mum’s the word at the moment, but yes, I’ll be the _Enterprise’s_ XO when Riker finally takes his first command this summer. Starfleet doesn’t quite trust me with my own ship yet – I hope they will after I prove my mettle here, though.”

Picard leans back expansively, pointing a finger around his cup of tea. “Don’t swear any oaths to that, Commander. The last first officer to think that way ended up spending fifteen years in his chair.”

Kathryn follows their exchange mutely, then snaps her mouth shut to smile at her former first officer. “Congratulations, Chakotay! Well, not on the fact that they’re looping you before finally giving you the command you deserve, but…”

“I could have done worse,” he agrees, dimples showing. 

“As could I,” Jean-Luc agrees. “As it is, I’ve got a few months to break you in before you start mothering me. Any hints as to that, Admiral?”

Kathryn holds up her hands in silent supplication, and is saved by her combadge’s beep. The voice that comes from it, though, quickly dissolves her smile. “Vey to Janeway.” Frantic, on the verge of panic.

“Go ahead, Marie.”

“Oh my _God_ …” A choke, and a feeble cough. “Uh… It’s… I… I’m in… in our quarters, and… and you weren’t here, and…” A deep breath, a bit of composure. “And the computer said you weren’t on the ship, and when I asked for Commander Troi or Healer Kalliste, they weren’t, either, and…”

Kathryn swears silently. “Good God, I’m sorry, Marie. I should have told you. I’m on the _Enterprise_ at the moment, and the Trois are over on the _Hood_ -”

“-cleaning out the senior staff at poker, along with my first officer, I’ve no doubt,” Jean-Luc cuts in. “It’s good to hear your voice, Marie. Why don’t you join us over here? There are some friends who’d like to see you again, too.”

Marie is silent for a while, probably pondering the sensibleness of this just as much as Kathryn does. Then, a sharp intake of breath, and an explosive “Okay.”

“I’ll notify _Voyager’s_ transporter chief and meet you over here, Marie,” Kathryn says, and Jean-Luc holds up his hand immediately.

“Stay seated, Kathryn, by all means – I can pick her up just as well as you. Captain’s prerogative, welcoming charming women on board,” he smiles. “I’ll see you in a moment, Marie?”

“Uh… yeah… I mean, yes. Of course. Thanks. Um, Vey out.”

Three pairs of eyes are on her, and again, Kathryn can’t meet even one of them. Then Jean-Luc rises and touches her shoulder before turning to leave. 

“What’s wrong, Kathryn?” Chakotay asks when the door shuts behind his captain.

Kathryn catches her head in her hands, staring at the floor. “Marie… Chakotay, she had to identify me, on that holo-ship. Had to choose between the impostor and me, to be exact. And she chose wrong. I only survived because of a bit of quick thinking of my officers. When she realized, she had a… nervous breakdown, I suppose it was. The Doctor sedated her, but then she didn’t wake up again for almost five days, and from what we’ve learned, she dreamed some very disturbing things during that time.” By the look in Chakotay’s eyes, he can relate to that, and remembering why that would be so… _Don’t tear up again, Janeway._

Kathryn grits her teeth. “She doesn’t remember the incident on the holo-ship nor her breakdown afterwards. It’s been only two days since she woke up, and she’s not stable enough to tell her, the Doctor and Deanna agree on that.” 

“Spirits, Kathryn…” Chakotay’s voice is tender, but then a Borg-enhanced hand touches Kathryn’s knee even more gently, and she looks up to see Seven crouch in front of her. 

“You’re both strong, as is your connection. The two of you will prevail.”

“Can’t dispute a Borg vote of confidence, Kathryn,” Chakotay smiles at her above Seven’s head.

* * *

Seven is kneeling in front of Kathryn. It’s the first thing I see when we enter Jean-Luc’s quarters. It’s a display of comfort, of consolation, and I’m instantly envious. Jean-Luc, his hand on my spine, notices its stiffening and gently, inexorably, urges me forwards.

He’d indeed met me in the transporter room, and had complimented me upon arrival – apparently, I’ve lost weight again, but somehow I’d rather regain every single pound I’ve lost than remember the things that made me lose them. Our way up here had been pretty much silent after that. I’d commented on the size of the ship, or rather, the length of the trip, and he’d smiled and said he’d give me a proper tour if I wanted to, something I would usually have jumped at. Today, with the shock of our empty quarters and the computer’s dispassionate message of ‘Admiral Janeway is not on board’ still in my bones, all I can think of is to see Kathryn with my own eyes.

Seeing Seven and Chakotay reminds me that Jean-Luc had spoken of friends who wanted to see me, and indeed Chakotay is already rising and coming towards me with a smile. He hugs me before I can pull back – good thing Seven is more restrained. Yet I can see, on both their faces, that Kathryn has told them at least a bit of what’s happened – careful and tentative. Walking on a minefield. And when they resume their places, the only space left for me is next to Kathryn on the sofa. 

Her scent hits me when I sit down – it had been in our quarter, too; she must have showered before coming here. And what had been messing with my head back there is sweet torture here, on the sofa next to her. Then I notice how Jean-Luc, the only one still standing, looks at me expectantly.

“Huh? Oh, I’m sorry.” I blush. “I didn’t catch you, Jean-Luc, I do apologize.”

“Refreshments?” His eyes smile. No carefulness in them, only teasing. Or maybe he’s just a good actor.

“Oh – right,” I reply, “um, water, please.”

“Cold, I presume? And more of what you had for the rest of you?” He gets the beverages to a chorus of ‘yes, please’, and returns to the lounge with a tablet of three steaming cups and two glasses of water.

Chakotay fills me in on why they’re here, and yet I can’t help hearing him tell me that he and Seven broke up, and thinking that his color hair seems wrong. Part of my brain is alert enough to send the right commands to my facial muscles and vocal chords, but I’m sure he notices. The way he’s so obviously _not_ asking the questions on his mind is worse than if he’d just come out with them, somehow.

“You’re damaged.” _Thank you. Even if your statement spills water all over my shirt, Seven, thank you._

“I am, Seven.” And now that he’s got permission, as it were, Chakotay turns the full force of his most solicitous gaze on me, too. Meeting Seven’s eyes is easier; it helps me keep in ‘explaining mode’, almost like talking to Deanna. “You are familiar with the phenomenon of repressed memories, right?”

She doesn’t even blink. “I am.”

“Well,” I shrug briefly, “that’s where I’m at. I’m working on it,” I glance at Kathryn for the briefest of moments before going on, “but it’s slow going.”

“Some things cannot be rushed,” Seven replies gravely. “Psychological recuperation is one of them. Nevertheless, I wish you a swift recovery.”

When has she gotten so wise? 

Kathryn, with a small, hitched intake of breath, reaches into her pocket, then exhales in exasperation and I know it’s come up empty. Quite without thinking, I do the same, and reach over my own little packet of tissues – my second non-food replicator recipe, something I’d depended on, back in Cologne. Her fingers, icy cold, touch mine; our eyes meet… and then I look away again, my eyes fleeing from the tears in hers. 

The silence is quite, quite awkward. Then Jean-Luc clears his throat. “Well. As I said when I invited you, my replicator isn’t up to the standards of your chef, but… what would you say to a quick bite of dinner?”

A dinner table certainly isn’t a minefield. I end up opposite Kathryn (which might be quite on purpose), and as the evening progresses, I find myself almost relaxing, into tales of the _Enterprise’s_ past months and missions, anecdotes of Chakotay’s and Seven’s roles in them, the general reminiscing that happens at such times, and the view of my wife. Jean-Luc refuses to open a bottle of Chateau Picard despite Kathryn’s protests, and Seven and I decline the syntheholic wine he offers in favor of more water. There’s another awkward moment when Chakotay asks if we’ve chosen a name yet, but Kathryn covers it smoothly, telling him to get in touch with Tom about the ‘Baby Janeway’ pools on offer. 

It takes me longer to recover. We haven’t chosen yet, and the thought screams for attention no matter how I try to close the door on it. Good thing there aren’t any telepaths around the table tonight, I suppose, I’d be bound to give them mental cramps. Kathryn is clamping down on a lot of things, too, I can see that; I wonder if she’s told the three of them about Section 31. Wonder what she’s told them about me and why I’m here.

Wonder where ‘here’ is.

 _For the love of all things sane and sensible, this isn’t getting you anywhere, goddamnit._ But what will? And where to? 

Kathryn is rubbing her belly, and the movement draws my eyes. Sometimes it seems quite on purpose, sometimes I’ve caught her doing it completely without thinking, eyes dreamy and far away. This seems to be one of the latter. The back and forth of her hand on her midsection reminds me of the pictures I used to take of her. And of the gap they have in them now, the regrettable, irreparable gap. My pregnant wife. Our first child. Suddenly I can’t breathe for how much I yearn to be at her side, join her hand’s motions, hold her and love her and enjoy this miracle with her. As if she’s sensing it, her eyes meet mine and fill with longing of her own, and for a blessed heartbeat, I’d swear our hearts are beating towards each other again. Her face relaxes – she doesn’t quite smile, and yet her expression soothes my heart, and quite without volition, the corner of my mouth comes up, and so does hers, and that crooked little half-smile is exactly the one I fell in love with. 

My tears start falling silently, and no one comments, not even when I raise my napkin to dab them away. And all the while, my eyes don’t leave hers, nor her mine, although I’m buggered if I know what they’re talking about. 

A combadge chirp breaks the spell. 

“Kalliste to Janeway.” However soft the healer’s accent is, it doesn’t make her interruption any less jarring to me.

“Go ahead, Healer,” Kathryn replies, looking aside with a slight frown.

“I realize the flagship is quite the attraction, Admiral, but I don’t think it warrants you missing your weekly examination.”

A prenatal this late at night? You have to give Kathryn credit, she doesn’t bat an eye. “Can’t this wait until morning?”

“That’s what you said yesterday, you know.”

A quick look heavenwards. Chakotay chortles silently. Kathryn’s eyes spear him equally wordlessly, then turn to Jean-Luc. “Has she been that way with you too, Jean-Luc?” 

“Like you wouldn’t believe. Healer,” he raises his voice, “we won’t keep your patient from you any longer than necessary – we’re just through with dinner, in fact, and I’ll walk the two of them down to the transporter room myself.”

“Eager to get rid of the admiral before she starts wiping the shelves with gloved fingers, Captain?”

“Commander!” You can clearly hear Deanna’s exasperation over the comm. line. 

“On the contrary, Healer,” Jean-Luc replies smoothly, “I’ve just learned not to interfere with you. The hard way, as you’ll remember.”

Kathryn cuts in. “I think this just about covers it – we’ll be over shortly, Commander, and I’ll come to you straight from the transporter room, I promise.” Her come-on gesture to me, two quick flicks of two outstretched fingers, is so familiar that I rise at once, and again, we share a smile. She might have been acting just know (and heavens only know whether I’ve managed to keep a sufficiently bland poker face; I have no idea why Althea wants to give Kathryn a physical at such a late hour), but the lightness in her voice, those lightning-quick get-backs she can give anyone, her wit, damnit, all have been things I’ve missed so very, very dearly.


	8. Chapter 8

Althea meets us in _Voyager’s_ transporter room, impatient enough to almost skip ahead of us as we walk towards the turbolift. Once the doors have shut behind us and she’s called for deck three, she turns towards Kathryn.

“We got another message.”

“I thought it might be something along those lines, Commander. I know for a fact I missed no prenatal of mine.” Her eyes flicker, almost but not quite to me, as if she can’t bring herself to make eye contact. I don’t know whether I’m grateful for that, really I don’t.

“Our quarters, or the briefing room, Admiral?”

“The briefing room? I don’t think that’s a good idea, Healer, to let the other side see-”

“Oh, no – they won’t,” Althea interrupts her. “It’s a chip. I’d guess it contains coordinates, but we haven’t accessed it yet.”

“Briefing room, then – computer, reroute to deck one. Is everyone back on board?”

“They are; Tom was with us for the poker game, B’Elanna had stayed behind with Miral. The rest hadn’t wanted to come, and Deanna had ordered Flo to take the bridge in any case.”

ch’Vlossen’s on the bridge indeed, along with ensigns and lieutenants I don’t recognize. I hesitate at the turbolift doors – I don’t belong in that meeting, do I? Kathryn is halfway at ops before she notices and turns back. 

“Will you be-”

“I’ll be in-”

We both break off, both almost find a smile. She gestures at me to go ahead, and I point my thumb at the ‘lift behind me. “I’ll be in our quarters, then, right?”

A muscle twitches in her cheek – she’s gritting her teeth. Not too harshly, but noticeable still. Then her jaw relaxes again, and she nods. “I’ll be down as soon as I can.”

“I’d like that.” And yes, part of me does, while another dreads going back to empty quarters. Well. At least I’ll know they’ll be empty, this time.

I turn and leave, with a quick nod to Flo who’s just passing us by. At least I don’t faint at thinking of him, this time. 

Hell.

* * *

ch’Vlossen escorts Kathryn to the briefing room, even waits while she quickly detours to the head.

“Your wife still doesn’t remember?” his deep bass rumbles when she comes out. “Commander Troi briefed those of us who witnessed the scene and who’re likely to run into her on the ship,” he explains when she looks at him with a frown.

“Good thinking, I suppose.” Even if it rankles her that Marie’s condition should be known by so many people. Then again, she herself had told two persons today, hadn’t she? “She doesn’t,” she goes on, and arriving at the briefing room’s door saves her from finding something else to say. 

She isn’t the only one in civilian clothing, but that’s quite alright, at almost 2300 hours. ch’Vlossen is in uniform, and Daurannen, and the Doctor, of course. But apart from those three, this meeting looks almost relaxed – until you notice the tension in everyone’s eyes. 

Althea steps forwards to input the chip into the reader slot. “I found it in my pocket after we beamed back to _Voyager_ ,” she explains its presence. “Either someone put it there while I was aboard the _Hood_ , which I think unlikely – I’d have noticed.” She looks pointedly at ch’Vlossen, who shuts his mouth again and smiles. “Or it was put there during the transport. Either way, I don’t know who it’s from – and there are no traces on it to tell, either; I checked, of course.” She joins the security chief’s smile. “No DNA but mine, no signature of the last computer it was used in, not even fingerprints. All I can say is that it carries the replicator signature of the _Hood_ , but not even that would necessarily mean it was replicated there – those signatures can be duplicated, with a bit of knowledge.”

“You think like a security officer,” ch’Vlossen approves, and Althea’s grin widens. Then she enters a command into the console she’s standing over and frowns when nothing happens.

“This code worked last time. So, different ones, eh? The paranoia continues.” She winks at the Andorian, who matches her grin and tilts one of his antennae. “Admiral?” Althea’s fingers hover over the console, waiting for permission.

“Go ahead, Commander.”

The pause while Althea accesses the chip with her mind is brief, then jumbled bits of data appear on the wall-mounted monitor. “Just a moment, please,” Althea frowns again. It clears up when the screen does. “There we are.” It seems so little, considering how much trouble someone has gone to, to get the information across.

“Coordinates.” Trust Tom to recognize them instantly. “And a comm. frequency, and… plain text, isn’t it?”

“‘Bring the two Borg.’” Althea’s soft accent caresses the chilly words. Stunned silence greets them.

“What the-”

“Tom.” The single syllable silences him. Then Kathryn tells them about Seven, Icheb and Chakotay, glossing over the reason for their being aboard the _Enterprise_. “So either the orders are from someone on the _Enterprise_ , or, if they’re from someone who’s on the _Hood_ , they contacted their handling officer after the _Enterprise_ joined the search effort, and received new instructions by the time this chip was readied.”

“Or it’s someone with enough authority to change plans,” ch’Vlossen adds. “We should try to analyze to see when the data on it was modified last.” 

“Do it. Tom, Flo, I want both of you to check what’s at those coordinates; ask Seven and Icheb over, they might be able to help. I’ll join you in Astrometrics in a bit. Lieutenant Daurannen, ask the two captains to meet me tomorrow at 1400 hours – senior officer’s meeting at 1100, to come up with ideas. We have the opportunity to go into this with the _Enterprise_ and the _Hood_ as backup and we should use it, even knowing there’s at least one conspirator aboard one of the ships. In fact, that’s another opportunity, I’d say – who knows what we can get off him or her when we find out who it is? Think on it. And apart from that, get some sleep. Dismissed.”

“Admiral,” by the look of it, Deanna has barely beaten the Doctor to it. A raised hand stops her, at least until the others have filed out, leaving _Voyager’s_ commanding officer alone with her executing officer and her chief medical officer.

“I should be getting some sleep myself, I know.” Kathryn sighs. “But this-”

“With all due respect, Admiral,” Troi says, “Flo and Paris, and Seven and Icheb too, of course, are perfectly capable of assessing the potential risk of the situation on their own. They can brief you on their findings tomorrow morning. I don’t see why you shouldn’t go to bed. Ma’am.”

“Speaking as a tactically trained CMO, I concur with the commander’s evaluation of the situation, Admiral,” the Doctor agrees. 

“But certainly you’ll let me explain _this_ ,” Kathryn’s hand points at the ominous order on the monitor, “to the ‘two Borg’ who’ll be beaming over shortly?”

“By all means, Admiral.” Well. Thank heaven for small victories. 

“I suppose I should be glad that you’re not telling me to go straight to bed after that,” Kathryn tells her in a mock grumble when they leave the briefing room, a grumble Deanna wisely doesn’t react to.

“Feels like a family reunion, doesn’t it,” the Doctor remarks as they cross the bridge. “Mind if I join you, Admiral? I haven’t seen Seven since Christmas, and Icheb even longer, and I’d like to say hello.”

“Of course not, Doctor. Deck eight.”

“Deck three,” Troi calls out.


	9. Chapter 9

Marie’s asleep on the sofa when Kathryn finally comes home. The sound of the doors wakes her, though, and she slowly stretches and rubs her eyes, her every motion so… Kathryn sighs, and walks towards the replicators, running a hand across her face herself.

“I’m getting myself a tea, to unwind,” she throws over her shoulder. “Do you want anything?”

“Thank you, but no.”

“Darjeeling, with cream.” It’s only when Kathryn removes her second boot that she notices she’s taking them off. Off-duty motions, just as chucking the jacket is. The red tunic is stretchy, taut over her belly, and Marie looks at the bulge as if hypnotized when Kathryn walks over to the sitting area. 

Marie’s breath catches when there’s a clearly perceptible movement. 

“Do you want to-?”

 _See how Marie’s hand rises. See it stop and hover. She’s torn. Help her._ Kathryn’s free hand moves towards her wife’s, slow and easy, just as she’d approach Molly when her dog had been hurt. Marie clenches her teeth at contact, but doesn’t pull away. Her wife’s hand on Baby Janeway’s poking elbow, or foot, or whatever it is, and her own hand covering it – it feels so right, right as locking gazes across Jean-Luc’s table has been. The tableau holds for about ten seconds, then Kathryn can feel the tension rising in Marie’s arm, and withdraws her hand, freeing Marie’s. It lingers a little longer, as does the wistfulness in Marie’s eyes.

Another long moment’s silence passes and is broken by Marie’s deep intake of breath. “Unwinding sounds good,” she says, with a determined little half-smile. “I… would it be alright with you if I went to bed already? I can’t think of anything better to help me fall asleep than hearing you move about, and…” she shrugs, the motion just as eloquent as her smile has been. Insecure, but determined. Indomitable, Kathryn’s thoughts whisper the word. Just as she’d been after the Friiell affair. And this is similar, in ways, so maybe employing the same strategy will work here, too?

“By all means,” she tells Marie with a smile. “And to top things off, my first officer has informed me that I won’t be needed on deck one until ten o’clock tomorrow morning, which from her is as good as saying she’ll _look_ at me, in that way of hers, if I set foot up there a moment before 1000 hours.”

Her delivery is rewarded by a ghost of Marie’s grin. “We can sleep in?”

“As much as I can sleep,” Kathryn amends that, stretching with her hands at the small of her back. “It’s not been too easy lately, what with this tenant of mine.”

Marie’s eyes turn almost black with sorrow. “I had no idea. What… how…?” she breaks off, looking up at Kathryn almost imploringly.

“How does being pregnant work out at the moment?” At an almost imperceptible nod, Kathryn sits down next to Marie, taking heart in how her wife doesn’t pull away from the hand she puts on Marie’s knee to steady herself in the process, and goes on, “well… Baby Janeway’s hours and mine don’t really coincide very well. It takes a while for her to realize when I want to sleep, although I’ve been reminded several times that a reliable routine helps with that.” She smirks. That particular hint had come from so many sources, it had almost been comical. “My emotions are… a challenge. I manage; I don’t think I’ve ever been this good at meditating. Enough to make a Vulcan proud, I’d say. All medical check-ups continuously come up okay, and…” _and still, I need you._ But Kathryn would rather bite off her tongue before saying those words. Even sharing things over subspace has felt closer than the last days have done.

Some of that is echoed in Marie’s eyes. “I didn’t go on taking pictures of you,” she says, not quite out of the blue. “There’s a gap now. I hate that.”

Well. “There isn’t, you know.” Kathryn blushes, then makes to rise, and is stopped by a warm hand on her arm. 

“Stay. Just tell me where.”

“Shelf behind my desk,” Kathryn answers gratefully. “The dark green album.”

“Old-fashioned paper?” Hints of teasing make Kathryn ache for more. “Got it. More tea, too?” 

“You might fetch things for me, love, but you can’t go to the bathroom in my stead, so, no, thanks.”

Marie collides with the desk’s corner and winces, then returns to the sofa, rubbing her hip with a grimace. “Look at me. My wife calls me ‘love’ and I run into things. This has got to stop, if only for the sake of furniture and replicator rations.” She sits down stiffly, and only then seems to remember the album in her hands. “Holy nightmare, I’m scared.” The words rush out and run, full tilt, into a severe gritting of teeth and filling of eyes, with a backup of clenching fingers.

“This might not be a good idea,” Kathryn realizes, too late. “Those are pictures of our wedding, our honeymoon, and…” _our daughter._ More words to better be bitten back. “And the pregnancy.” Marie looks at the book in her lap as if expecting it to bite. Thinking of a library where books are kept chained shut, or submerged in ice, or behind intricately locked doors, Kathryn can’t help but smile a little. “This is not the Necrotelly… thing. You know.”

A laugh. It sounds queer, in the stillness of their quarters, Kathryn thinks, and tries to remember when Marie last laughed in here. And it’s not a bitter one, nor a hurt one, nor even a frightened one. No, this laugh is free, and music. “You’re right.” Again, more softly, “you’re right. Thank you.”

* * *

I turn the first page, my heart in my throat stomping down on my stomach that’s trying to rise the same way. The picture of the wedding congregation spans both pages, the aisle in the middle, marred by where the pages meet, looking as expectant as the faces left and right. Someone must have climbed a ladder, or else this picture was taken from the first story of Gretchen’s house – you can see _everyone_. The _Voyager_ family, extended version; Jean-Luc is there, a few admirals, the Paris clan, the Trois, Janeway neighbors and family friends. 

It makes me feel incredibly alone to see not a single face that I would refer to as ‘family and friends of Marie Vey’. Yes, well, Ellie simply isn’t in this picture, none of the bridesmaids are. And yes, the _Voyager_ family is mine, and yes, so are the Janeways. Still… _Don’t cry; you’ll ruin the pictures._ Well. Probably not. _On, Vey._

The next shot, blown to one full page, at least shows Ellie at my side. I look at the image of her face more than I look at mine, then my eyes are inevitably drawn to… the person next to her. How blissful I look. I notice my hand hovering above the picture, as if by touching I could reclaim a bit of that happiness. I notice fingers in my other hand when I clench it and the pressure is returned. And yet I can’t bring myself to turn my eyes away, because across the page is a photo of my wife, and somehow that picture seems more real than the woman sitting next to me. Except for those fingers, small and cool and obviously determined to hold on to mine, however hard I grip them. 

Whoever shot the picture must have done so right when she was walking past. God, but I love her profile so. The sky is impossibly blue behind her, the morning sun soft on her cheeks. The wind has teased a few strands of her hair out of line. Her eyes, borrowing their color from above, are narrowed infinitesimally against the brightness of the sun on the house towards which she’s walking, but other than that, her features are free and open-hearted as I’ve rarely seen them, right down to the incredulous smile playing around her lips. 

Why is it that whenever I see a picture of her, I fall in love all over again? 

And why can’t I extend that simplicity to the now?

I have no idea how long I’ve stared at the page before I finally turn it. Smaller pictures, three on one side, five on the other. The two of us in front of Chakotay, gazing at each other, oblivious to the world. Kathryn, shooting a smile at the congregation from behind lowered lashes while her mother beams widely. Our three bridesmaids, standing off to one side. Then, across the page, me, bowing down to Ennin for the ring that’s in my pocket right now. Kathryn, doing the same. Two close-ups of rings slipping onto fingers, testament to the evolution of zoom factors in three centuries. And another close-up, of my face this time, incredibly loving, and obviously singing. 

The song comes back, unbidden, gently winding around my throat until even breathing is getting painful. Eligo quod video; it does fit so well, doesn’t it? I choose what I see. If only it were that simple. Does Kathryn remember, too? Will she hold me to it? I can’t. I can’t choose. I can’t decide. I can’t turn my eyes away from those pictures, either, and decide that turning the pages is infinitely easier than turning to face her. 

The reception. Food, a wedding cake (had there been a wedding cake? It does look marvelous, but I don’t have the foggiest idea of how it might have tasted), glasses raised in a toast, dancing. I wince at those, conscious once more of just how much more graceful than me Kathryn moves, especially in such close comparison. I do look radiantly happy, for what’s it worth. 

There are pictures here where everyone is looking at the photographer (I even remember some of them being taken), there are sneaked snapshots. There are our guests, kids running, a buffet reduced to crumbs, surprising evidences of silliness, graceful moments, tears of laughter and of overwhelmed emotion, hugs and kisses – and we. On every page, at least one picture contains not Kathryn _or_ me, but the two of us together. Granted, we hadn’t been joined at the hip (and aren’t, and a good thing, too), but apparently we’d never drifted very far apart from each other, and it shows. 

The love in them doesn’t show; it shouts. If it were truly a light glowing inside us (at least that’s how I always picture it), every single shot should, by rights, be almost ridiculously overexposed. Cynics would gag, I suppose, and declared bachelors reform their ways, seeing us. And I clearly remember feeling that way; I could readily feel that way right now, for heaven’s sake, if my goddamned doubting mind would let me.

The next page shows a few panoramic shots, of Yosemite, the Death Valley, and other stations of our honeymoon journey. Tom must have taken these – there’s one where Kathryn stands behind me as I kneel to touch Martian soil for the first time in my life. My fingers rub together unconsciously, remembering the gritty feel of it, and my other hand gets clenched – Kathryn remembers, too. And again I can’t look at her. Seeing the loving, bottomless delight in her photographed eyes is bad enough. I don’t think I can bear what I’m sure is in her real eyes right now.

There are few pictures of our honeymoon – neither I nor Kathryn is much of a shutterbug, as the Doctor calls it. Most of them are from B’Elanna’s birthday party, including an auto-timed group shot of almost all of _Voyager’s_ senior staff, both old and new. I do remember how Tom tickled Miral to get her to laugh, and how much tries it took until everyone at least looked presentable, if not at the camera. As it is, the Parises look at each other over the head of their bubbly daughter, the Trois frame the whole group in two pairs of twos, the Doctor and Harry clasp shoulders and beam towards the lens. ch’Vlossen towers over all of us, looking quite delighted, while Daurannen’s face is simply… intent. I don’t doubt that she’d recorded everything in her mind that night, ambitious as she is. Seven and Chakotay are the notable absences. It’s good that they’re on the _Enterprise_ right now, I think. At least it feels good to have them near – friends, right? 

The next spread is empty. “What comes next is not for everyone’s eyes, right?” Kathryn explains – I don’t even have to ask, much less look at her. I know what I’ll see when I turn the next page.

Our Sunday pictures. My wife, naked, pregnant. I’ve never seen the pictures like this – you could almost use them as a flickerbook. God, but Kathryn knows how to strike a pose, this gorgeous, graceful wife of mine. Starting with loosely closed hands above crossed wrists that rest lightly on top of her head, continuing down that closed-eyed, half-turned profile and the elegant curve of her neck, right down to the marked contrast between engaged leg and free leg. And in between, our daughter grows. 

Over the first three months, Kathryn is framed by the door between her Indiana bedroom and its en-suite bathroom. After that, it’s either that one or the one in the little apartment on the shipyard grounds, and finally, the one right next door. But the angle never changes, and I wonder…

“I extrapolated,” she offers, again without me asking. Seems she can read my face quite fluently by now, too. “Asked the computer to define the angle, height and distance of the imager.”

“Was easier for me,” I say, finding a bit of levity, “all I had to do was stand right next to the bed’s corner.” A thought strikes me. “A tripod?”

“And a mark on the floor,” and finally, finally, when she sounds so wry and so enthusiastic at the same time, I can look at her. The thought of _Voyager’s_ commanding officer taping an X to the floor of her bedroom… I want to laugh. I want to love her. God, I want to, and she sees it, and I don’t care about letting her, but when that blasted cautiousness raises its head again I’d kill to keep it out of my eyes, so help me every deity that’s within reach. 

I don’t succeed, divine support or no, and seeing the hurt in Kathryn’s eyes is bad, but it gets worse when they turn patient. Their perseverance drives mine shut as surely as a sandstorm would, and feels almost as abrasive, somehow, somewhere in that battered poor heart of mine.

“I’m so sorry.” The words sound lame. They can’t begin to touch the anguish I feel, not with a long, long pole. 

“Marie.” Oh, her voice. Her private voice, so expressive, so low, cubes of ice slowly melting into whisky in front of a fire. I ache. I crave, I hunger and yearn. I could walk the whole alphabet of longing without missing a beat, and I know I can’t keep that out of my face, either, no matter if she can’t see my eyes. “Why are you torturing yourself so, Marie?” Such power over me, this voice has.

Why indeed? It’s all in the mind, after all. _Your mind, Vey. Your decision._ God, the pain. The sudden fury. “I don’t know!” I tell it to my lap. This ferocity is not for her, after all. The remorse is, though. “I’m sorry.” 

A hand on mine, cool as always. “I know,” she whispers, and I can hear my sorrow echoed in her sigh. “Let’s… do you… will you come to bed, Marie?”

I won’t get a wink of sleep, I’m pretty certain. “Do you think you… can sleep, like that?”

Another sigh, and a change in angle – she’s stood up. “Marie, for what’s it worth, I don’t _want_ to sleep any other way, and I can be just as stubborn as you.”

That, now, I have to contest. I open my eyes, back on firmer ground. “Objection.”

“Noted,” she replies with a completely dismissive and deeply mocking shrug, tugging at my hand. “Now come to bed.”

* * *

Expressive chocolate eyes meet Kathryn’s when she returns from her early morning bathroom break, somewhere in the small hours. “Are you… would you be too tired to listen to me explain?” Marie is sitting up, a blanket around her shoulders, carefully positioned in what Kathryn can’t help thinking of as a ‘non-threatening posture’. _Good God._

“Good question,” Kathryn answers, more lightly than she feels. “I do want to listen. I really do. But…” she smirks, joining her wife on the bed, careful herself of not getting between Marie and the doorway, however much that almost unconscious thought hurts. “I honestly can’t promise…”

Marie flicks a hand, a stolen gesture. “And I don’t want you to. I consider myself duly prepared, and shall endeavor to be… interesting enough not to put you to sleep.” Her words are light, too, so Kathryn stifles her protest, and turns it into a twist along the corner of her mouth because she knows exactly how much her wife loves that little half-smile. And indeed, Marie’s eyes turn wistful for a moment. “I… I just hope what I’m going to say doesn’t sound too mad, you know.”

“Consider me duly prepared, why don’t you?”

Her quip wins Kathryn a small flickering smile, followed by another deep breath. And then Marie tells her about waking up, and waking up again, and again, and again. About seagulls, and doubts, and hopes dashed and fear rising, and with each new morsel, Kathryn feels the knife twist deeper. She follows as the bottom drops out of Marie’s world, and it doesn’t even matter that Marie’s voice is strangely detached, recounting all this. Quite apart from the words alone, Marie’s eyes, those eloquent dark brown orbs, and her mimics, so much more pronounced than Kathryn’s own, tell their own story. 

“And so I left a… a letter to Ellie and…” a harsh swallow, “and jumped. I even remember thinking, for the briefest moment, how akin to flying it was, and how often I’d dreamt of flying like that.” 

So that wild excitement hadn’t been an imagination, had it? “And you landed here.”

“I did. And I sensed you, and Althea, and for a moment, I…”

“I know.” They both know what had happened afterwards, after all. “You are immensely brave, Marie. I don’t know if I could have done that, you know.”

That statement is greeted with another dismissive gesture. “It wasn’t bravery. I’m not sure if it was even sane, and I certainly wouldn’t recommend it to anyone.” Marie looks down at her crossed legs and the corner of the blanket covering them, fiddling with the hem for a moment. “You know, Althea’s told me this is real. You’ve told me. My senses tell me-” she chokes, and her fingers clench around the fabric. “And yet I don’t know it this isn’t just wishful thinking, you know?”

“I can see why,” Kathryn says quietly. 

“And I don’t know whether it’s just a matter of getting used to this again, or whether I could, or should, _do_ something. And that’s…” Marie stops breathing for a moment, as if something had hit her. “That’s so difficult for me, you see? I, who’s always been so confident, so self-assured, who always knew what to do – I have lost that. If you can’t trust yourself, who can you trust?”

“I’ve heard these words before.” Somehow, Kathryn finds a smile to go with her answer and greet Marie’s eyes when they come up. “A white-haired admiral told me, a while ago.”

Marie smiles, too; laughs, even, though it doesn’t sound too amused. “Neither of you doubted for a minute who you were, though, didn’t you?”

“Not the way you do, I think.”

“No.” Down to the blanket those eyes drop again, to watch fiddling fingers once more. 

“Marie, you…” She looks so lonely. Forlorn, in so many ways. Kathryn moves forwards, slowly; slowly. _Easy – go easy on her._

Marie is tense even before Kathryn’s hand finds her arm. She doesn’t pull away, but her breath catches and stops, returning shallow and labored, an act of will rather than autonomic muscle action. _Easy._ It takes about a minute of the most gentle, soft approach Kathryn is capable of before Marie is secure in her arms. It takes much longer for Marie to relax, at least a little, into the embrace, and Kathryn is fully, painfully aware of every deliberate decision behind Marie’s quiescence. Indomitable. _My indomitable, dauntless Marie._

She doesn’t kiss Marie, doesn’t reawaken their link. Not after what Marie’s told her about the first scenario she woke up to. It’s difficult, doubly so because Kathryn herself wants, _needs_ the reassurance of sensing her wife. Help comes from an unexpected direction, though.

“Hey, little one.” Marie’s voice is still choked, but incredibly tender nevertheless. “Stop kicking your mom.” 

Kathryn’s eyes fill. “I’ve missed you speaking to her,” she whispers. “I’d swear she has, too.” Her wife’s shoulders twitch, briefly, almost like a sob. “Please…” _please go on, Marie._

“I’ve missed you, too,” Marie says in a shaky voice, and even though Kathryn doesn’t know whether she means her or their daughter, that’s okay, really, isn’t it? “Your mother took pictures of you while I couldn’t, but still I feel I’ve missed so much-” her voice breaks, but immediately, incredibly, she pulls herself together again. “Even if I haven’t, at least not as much as I thought, right? But I… well, I’m back again, aren’t I?” 

“She can hear you, you know,” Kathryn says softly when Marie doesn’t go on. 

“She can?” Marie’s head comes up, eyes wide.

“I’d say so, yes. Her movements are different right now. Try…” she takes Marie’s left and places it on her belly, “try tapping. She’s reacted to that before.”

“She has?” Utter fascination seems to make Marie forget her doubts and worries, and she starts tapping out a simple beat. 

“There’s definitely a reaction,” Kathryn smiles, careful to keep the tears out of her voice. “You know… Althea has offered to… we could… she can make us see… see our daughter.” Again, Marie’s head snaps up, even quicker than the last time. At first, her eyes are radiant with wonder, but the by-now-familiar wariness is quick to try and re-establish its hold on them. Not without a battle, though, and seeing that helps Kathryn not to hurt too much. “You don’t need to decide about that right now,” she adds. “I just wanted you to know.”

A terse nod, then Marie slowly pulls away. “Thank you.” She runs a hand through her hair, leaving behind a mess. Kathryn’s fingers itch to smooth those curls back into some semblance of order, but… “Please don’t look at me like that,” Marie almost begs.

“I can’t help it, Marie.” Suddenly, something gives. “I need you. I need you, Marie, I need to touch you, to hold you, and I need you to hold me. I miss you, and you’re sitting right here. I can’t do this on my own, and I don’t want to – this is our daughter, and…” Kathryn takes a deep breath, but not even the pain in Marie’s eyes can stop her now. “Coming back to you every weekend was… it wasn’t the way I’d wanted it, but it was okay. Coming back to you after each mission was… I would have wished it had been otherwise, but… But now! I can’t…” she swallows, fighting for her voice to obey her. “I can’t bear having you right here and not…” She gets up, one hand at her neck, the other stroking the small of her back. “I want to be there for you, Marie. I want to help you, to make this as easy as possible, and maybe… I don’t know; maybe knowing that I need you helps. I don’t know,” she repeats, looking back towards her wife, looking for more words to express what she feels. The silence draws out when she doesn’t succeed.

“I’m aware of that,” Marie whispers, finally. “I don’t know whether it helps you to know that, but I… I know all that. And you wouldn’t believe how much I want to be there for you.”

“For the sake of all things holy, Marie, why don’t you, then?” It’s out before Kathryn can stop herself. Not even covering her mouth can bring those words back, can it.

Marie just stares at her, a dumbstruck, open-mouthed, wide-eyed stare. Then her mouth snaps shut, she shudders, then laughs, weakly. “I don’t know how.” She rises, not towards Kathryn, but towards the foot of the bed. Towards the door. 

Kathryn doesn’t stop her leaving. She can’t, just as she can’t seem to stop her tears.

* * *

I’m running away, aren’t I? Knowing that doesn’t make it better, nor easier. Kathryn calls me brave, but I can’t bring myself to believe in what every fiber of my being screams is right. I can’t even bring myself to say her name out loud, for heaven’s sake. 

I pace the aft lounge. I’ll admit to gesturing, too, but I think if anyone asked me I’d keep quiet about not keeping quiet. Oh no, I’m not talking to myself, only mad people do so, don’t they. 

_Go back to the facts, Vey. You jumped, and you didn’t die, and you landed here, where everything is as you remember._ Or as I wish it to be? Well, no. If things were as I wished them, I wouldn’t be down here. I wouldn’t have such a hard time of it, now would I? 

“It all boils down to what you believe, you know,” a quiet voice informs me. 

“Commander. I didn’t hear you come in.”

Troi, seated in one of the chairs in front of the windows, turns towards me, away from the stars. Smiling. “I was already in here when you came. I sensed your turmoil, and Althea told me you might head down here, so I decided I might as well wait and see if you want to talk.”

“You sensed… It’s five in the morning!”

“0548, in fact, and before you ask – yes, you woke me.” Her smile stays – I’m not sure even I could be this understanding. “What happened?”

“Why don’t _you_ tell me?” I snap at her.

“I can’t,” God, but that calmness really gets on my nerves. “I’m not telepathic, as you know.”

“Extrapolate, then, why don’t you?”

“It doesn’t pay to assume, and you know that too, Marie.” 

I take a few steps away from her and watch the stars until the urge to scream slowly fades. She’s right, after all. I might hate it, I might hate her delivery of it, but she’s right. “I chickened out.”

“Because you can’t bring yourself to believe this is real.”

“Well, how would I?” I flare up again. “It’s all in the mind, yes? Whatever I feel, whatever facts you tell me, whatever evidence you show me, I might just be imagining all of it. This is a ship of scientists, right? My wife is a scientist, you’re one, we all are – not much place for belief, is there? I took that goddamn leap of faith, two of them, in fact, so maybe there’s no more faith left for me to act upon! Maybe I simply want _certainty_ for a change! Tell me, Counselor,” I spit the word and she, not a thread of uniform nor a hair on her head out of place at ten to six in the goddamn morning, she never even flinches. “Tell me where I can find certainty when I don’t even trust my own mind anymore!”

I stare at her, heaving, trembling, torn between tears and murder. She doesn’t answer, and, in all honesty, I don’t see how she can. Then she proves me wrong, and I almost laugh into her face when she does.

“You could trust other people,” she says softly. 

“That’s the problem, isn’t it,” I reply, still venomous enough that I have to take care not to bite my tongue. 

“Yes, it is,” she agrees, still in those gentle, patient tones. “I know you don’t. I know you’re hurt, and lost, and full of distrust. And I don’t think it’s only because of this situation you’re in right now. No, it feels stronger than that, much closer to your core, as it were.”

“How can not trusting myself not be at my core, Counselor?”

“Because it’s an effect, not a cause, Marie.” She has the audacity to smile at me. “It needs to be fed. It needs feedback. It needs causes, reasons, sources. And yes, it needs faith; the hope that things will turn out well, that the trust you give will turn out to have been earned.” She stands, folding her arms – not really confrontational, though. Thoughtful, rather. “Don’t misunderstand me – it’s not going to be easy. It’s going to be the greatest risk you ever took. But don’t you think it’s worth it?” 

She leaves me with that, and I resume my pacing. An effect, eh? What’s the cause, then, down here at this core of mine? Who am I, looking down at myself and saying, this is the real me? Who is the real me? 

_I have woken up,_ the thought appears, from a similar direction, but in another voice. _I have woken up and I am real._

I laugh at it. If only it were so easy.

* * *

Chakotay is carrying a familiar bundle in with him when Kathryn calls for the door to open. 

“I thought that a vision quest might help Marie,” he says. “When I contacted the bridge, Commander Troi said you were still in your quarters and free for the morning.” He takes one look at her face and adds, “Marie’s not here though, I take it?” 

_No, she’s gone these two hours, and I don’t know if…_ Kathryn just nods, mutely, then holds up her hand to ward him off when he moves closer. “If you hug me now I won’t be good for anything for the rest of the day,” she tells him with a wan smile. 

He tilts his head to look at her from beneath his lashes. “Well, we don’t want that, do we. But… spirits, Kathryn. You don’t really look too bright and shiny as it is, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“That’s quite alright,” Kathryn replies, “I do have eyes to see. I… I don’t know if Marie will come in for breakfast,” _or if she’ll come in at all,_ “so… would you like to sit and have breakfast with me?” _I don’t want to eat alone. My mouth tastes like ashes, but if someone’s with me, maybe I can get something down._

Chakotay looks at her as if he hears every word she isn’t saying. “Of course.”

They talk about easy things, small things, non-essential things. Baby Janeway wakes up, and promptly begins her morning exercises. He notices Kathryn’s subtle shifting. Of course he would.

“How does it feel like? Being pregnant?” His look is intensely curious, and his amazement makes Kathryn remember hers, makes her forget, just for a moment, who’s not here to share that wonder. 

“It’s incredible, Chakotay. To bring a new life into this world… She’s moving, Chakotay. Moving.” Kathryn shakes her head at the thought. “There’s a person inside me who’s part of me, but who’s also not, you know? I don’t think I understood that at first. Oh, I knew, of course,” she flicks her eyes at his grin, “but I didn’t really _know_ , if you get my meaning. Not until she started to move and I realized she’s got very much her own mind about just when and where and how.”

“Sounds familiar,” he beams at her. “She’s going to be great, I know it. An independent spirit, fearless and full of love.” 

_This sweet, sweet man…_ “Thanks, Chakotay.” Kathryn blinks back tears. 

“Hormones, right?” 

The doors open, and Marie, for a moment, looks ready to bolt. There’s quite visibly a debate going on inside her, at the end of which Marie steps forwards hesitantly. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” Chakotay says, for all that he’s much more of a guest than either woman. Still, Kathryn looks at him gratefully, seeing as she doesn’t seem to find words to the same effect.

When Marie returns to the table with her usual breakfast choice, her eyes fall to the pack Chakotay’s brought. “Furs?”

“My medicine bundle,” Chakotay explains, then launches into just what it is and why he brought it, while Kathryn watches her wife have chocolate. Kathryn’s own croissant with melon slices tastes remarkably good, all things considered.

“A vision quest, you say.” Marie sounds dubious. “I don’t know if I’m up to that, Chakotay.” Suddenly, she shakes herself, and a ghost of her grin glides across her face. “Then again, when if not now, after a nice breakfast?”

“Marie…” Kathryn finally finds breath to say something, only to discover that she really doesn’t know what to say. “Are you sure?” she manages, finally.

“No. But I’ve made so many starts, I might as well make another.” Again, that intrepid corner of her mouth comes up. Then, “No,” Marie holds out her hands when Kathryn rises and turns towards the door. “If you don't mind, I… I’d like for you to stay.”

“And you think _that’s_ a good idea?” Kathryn is almost sure that it isn’t, but if Marie wants it…

“Hell, no!” This time, the smile is even stronger. “But it’s what I can persuade myself to accept, and I… I think you should. I have no idea what I’ll find, on that journey, and… part of me is jumping up and down, shouting that you should be there. I’m trying to listen to it more than to the rest.”

Chakotay holds his silence. His face doesn’t give Kathryn any hints as to what he’s thinking either, however much she wishes it would. He seems to be content to give Marie free reign in this, and of course that’s the noble, counselor thing to do, but is it the responsible thing to do? Kathryn clearly remembers the admonition Deanna had said she’s given Marie, about pushing and going easy. Would this qualify as too much pushing?

“You think I’m going too fast, too far, don’t you?” _Your face is like an open book to me, Kathryn._

Kathryn swallows, and answers truthfully, “It’s not an opinion yet, only a worry,” and is rewarded with another wry smile. 

“I’m right alongside you on that one,” Marie murmurs. Then her eyes gain a new quality. Determination. “Please. Stay.”

Her words are firm enough for Chakotay to walk over and sit down on the floor next to the sofa and the little tea table. Kathryn watches him unroll his bundle, listens to his explanations, remembers her own experience of this. Tells the computer not to disturb them for the time being. 

When Chakotay asks Marie if she has any objects around that would help her define herself, Marie’s answering detour puzzles Kathryn for a moment. Her wife returns from the bookshelf with one book that Kathryn remembers vividly, from the cover alone, not that she’s likely to forget the girl and the shepherdess and the queen of the fairies. Marie’s next move, though, has all the stunning force of a phaser. 

“Where do I put them?” she asks Chakotay, ring in one hand, book in the other.

“You can keep them in your hands, or you can put them close by if you want to. You need to have one hand free at the beginning, though, to put onto the Akoonah.”

“Alright.” Marie, sinking cross-legged to the floor opposite him, casts a look over her shoulder next, up to Kathryn, eyes truly amused. “Sit down already,” she says, her nod indicating the sofa. “Unless you’d rather share the floor with us?”

“Oh, no,” Kathryn joins her smile, shaking her head quickly. “The sofa is about as low as I’m prepared to go. But…” She’ll be looking directly into Marie’s face, and somehow that seems the height of intimacy.

“Please.” A twitch in Marie’s cheek speaks of clenching teeth, but her eyes are resolved. Marie knows exactly what she’s asking, Kathryn is certain of that. How can she deny it?

“The sofa it is, then,” she says, trying for lightness she doesn’t really feel.

Chakotay’s eyes linger on her for a moment. Then he nods, apparently satisfied with what he’s found, and turns to Marie’s face, where he repeats the study and appears to come to the same conclusion. Wordlessly, he hands Marie the Akoonah. Equally wordlessly, Marie places her left on it, and her right, ring beneath her palm, on the book. A brief, ironic smile crosses her face, and Kathryn is quite certain they’re thinking the same thing – how close this looks to swearing on a holy text. How fitting it is, too, in a way; Marie certainly holds those books in high regard.

“A-koo-chee-moya. We are far from the sacred places of our grandfathers. We are far from the bones of our people. With me on this day is a woman who feels still farther from the firm grounds of certainty. Perhaps there is one powerful being who will help this woman on her quest back to what she’s lost…”

Kathryn can see the change in her wife’s face when the Akoonah’s effect and Chakotay’s low, gentle voice transport her to her ‘content and peaceful place’. The calm that spreads on Marie’s is, if not a true smile, then at least a freer, more relaxed expression than anything Kathryn has seen in weeks, if not months. It’s as painful as it’s welcome, in a way. Intimate doesn’t begin to describe it, and for a moment, Chakotay’s presence feels almost an intrusion. Yet the changes in Marie’s features and pose directly conform to his words, and Kathryn knows that his guidance is needed. On the other hand, seeing this from the outside as it were, part of her is frankly amazed at the thought that she allowed him to share this… yes, intimacy with her, mere weeks after she’d set out to catch him. 

“I wouldn’t have thought I’d ever come here again.” Marie’s voice is deep and resonant, close to singing, if not as cadenced. 

“Don’t tell us what you see, Marie. It would offend the spirits. Look around you, feel the life you’re part of.” 

“It’s quiet, but that’s as should be,” Marie says softly, and her smile brings a beach to Kathryn’s mind, and the enviable feeling of being at peace with the world. 

“Look and listen,” Chakotay says quietly. “If your spirit guide is willing, it might show itself to you. Look around you, see if there is an animal.” 

“There’s no one here,” Marie replies instantly, the smile yielding to attentive concentration. “I hear bird calls, but… those are not… no.” The negation comes swift and sure, and Chakotay cocks his head. From behind his shoulder, Kathryn can see one of his eyebrows rise. Impressed, or worried? Since she can’t see the rest of his face, and certainly not his eyes, there’s no way for her to say. 

“Wait…” a frown appears, and Marie sits up straighter. “There’s movement back th… now it’s gone.” The frown deepens. “Can I go look?”

“That is your choice,” Chakotay answers. “Some guides come to a person who waits. Others want to be sought out. What do you feel like doing?”

“I’ll go look.” The answer is instantaneous. Kathryn briefly wonders whether Marie will rise and walk through their quarters. But then, she herself never did, did she, back then in her ready room, so it shouldn’t really come as a surprise when Marie doesn’t either. There’s new tension in Marie’s shoulders, though. Not the fearful hunch that’s been there before, but ready alertness, the sort that carries you into uncharted territory, and hopefully through it.

“Do animal guides leave traces? Do I track them?” The curiosity in Marie’s voice teases a smile onto Kathryn’s face. _This_ is her wife - the eager, confident explorer, not the insecure doubter of her own mental health. If only for this moment, the vision quest has been a good idea. 

“They usually don’t,” Chakotay tells her. “If they do, it’s a powerful sign, so you might want to look out, but don’t hold your breath.”

“I understand. There’s… there! Movement… it’s gone again. The sun’s gone, too…” Marie shivers, and a bit of insecurity shivers right back into her features. “I’m not sure whether… maybe I should go back and wait?”

“Do what feels right.” But as reassuring as Chakotay’s voice sounds to Kathryn, his words only seem to heighten Marie’s doubts.

“Easy for you to say,” she mutters, and Kathryn suppresses a laugh. Irreverent Marie is there still, it seems. Marie seems to cast around, even if her eyes are firmly closed to this reality. Then her head turns, unerringly, to where Kathryn sits. _If she opened her eyes now…_ Instead, another frown crosses Marie’s face, and she turns away again. _Has she seen me, or did she see something in her quest?_

“I’ll go on, I suppose.” Marie is quiet for a moment, and Kathryn imagines her walking and searching. “Whoa!” Her eyebrows shoot up. 

“What is it?”

A sudden grin. “Do animal guides test your mettle before they show themselves?”

The corner of Chakotay’s mouth that Kathryn can see comes up, too. “That’s been known to happen.” 

“Holy death jump…” Marie exhales, then squares her shoulders. Kathryn burns with curiosity, the memory of the, yes, quest she’d undertaken for Kes when the young Ocampan had been hurt on the Nechani world still clear in her mind – all those tests and challenges, right up to the basket she had to reach in, and the stinging, sharp pain that followed. 

She watches intently as Marie’s whole body tenses, but not in pain, it seems. Then Marie recoils, gritting her teeth and frowning deeply, and Kathryn fights to stay still and let her work through it. Marie’s head comes around suddenly, as if she was looking at something right in front of her left shoulder. Something that moves away, by the look of it. “Great,” Kathryn hears Marie mutter, and smiles. Can’t be too bad if Marie sounds like this, can it?

“Be patient, Marie.” Chakotay’s voice holds a smile, too. “This is a quest, remember? Nobody said it would be easy.”

“Figures,” Marie replies with a sudden grin. “This is my mind, after all, isn’t it. Of course it wouldn’t be easy.” She shakes her head and takes a deep breath. “On, then.” Again, her closed eyes seem to be searching for something, and again, they linger on Kathryn for a moment. “There’s movement again… it seems… oh, don’t worry, I won’t tell.” Again, that grin. “I’ll be good.” Then she cocks her head, as if she’d heard something. “You know… movement, sound, but I never really _see_ them. Are you sure they’re…?”

“Not everyone meets their animal guide on their first quest, Marie.” Chakotay sounds serious again, now, and Kathryn feels taken aback for a moment. _They don’t?_

“No, they’re there, I know it. It’s as if I can sense their presence. But they’re… hidden.”

“Do you want to see your animal guide, Marie?” A simple question. Nevertheless, it hits Marie, Kathryn can see it. Insecurity again, and heaps of it. Fear, too. In a way, it’s _the_ question, isn’t it – does Marie want to confront whatever she needs to confront? Ask the questions she needs to ask?

Marie takes a while to answer. “Good question, Chakotay.” It’s barely more than a whisper. And suddenly, in a face still dubious and torn, lips press together stubbornly. This is nothing like the defiance Kathryn has seen on Marie’s face before. There is a decision in there, somewhere, but it’s full of, yes, trepidation, and clearly not completely resolved. But it’s there. Nolens volens, she remembers the old expression – not-willingly willing. It makes her heart beat towards her wife, that look does.

And then it changes. Marie swallows, dryly, and Kathryn knows the guide has shown itself.

* * *

The wolf sits there, looking at me, tongue lolling in a laugh. And just as I know it’s a female, I know she’s not laughing at me, but at the absurdity that is life and a mortal’s quest to understand it. 

I bow my head in greeting, but don’t break eye-contact. I don’t want her loping away when I’ve just found her. “Well met,” I tell her.

“Do you think so?” Her question isn’t posed by a voice, not as such. And yet she makes her meaning clear somehow, in a way that isn’t quite speech, isn’t quite thought, isn’t quite knowledge. 

“I hope so,” I reply.

“Then it might be so,” she laughs. 

“I’ve heard that you can guide me,” I venture.

“Oh, certainly. Where?”

“I want to go where I’m supposed to be,” I answer, quite without thinking, but quite truthfully all the same.

“Ah, but who is the judge of that?” she asks. Around her, more shadows move, as her pack mates awake and stretch. There’s at least a dozen of them, I’d say, but just as my guide, they don’t appear threatening.

“Aren’t you?”

“Oh, most assuredly not.” Again, she laughs, and her pack laughs with her. Again, I know it’s not at me, and still it grates. A little. “I am a guide, not a judge. I can take you where you want to go, but you need to tell me where that is, first.”

“But if I knew that, I wouldn’t need a guide, would I?”

“Is that not just what you face right now? Are you not certain about where you want to be, but not sure how to get there?”

For the second time since this began, a bird of prey cries overhead. I cock my head. “That’s right. Can you help me with that?”

“Of course I can.” Yet the only thing about her that makes any move is her tongue, still lolling and laughing.

“Well, will you?”

“I had thought you would never find it in you to ask, my sister. Come to me,” she says. 

I eye the twenty or so meters that separate me from her, from the pack. Well. She might be my animal guide, but what about the rest of them? They sit and watch me, not aggressively, but not like your common dog, either. A pack of wolves can bring a man down, even if man’s not their prey. Then again, these are no ordinary wolves. And she’s said she’d help me, hasn’t she? Or has she? My foot, in the very act of stepping forwards, hesitates. 

“Ah,” she says, sounding as patient as nature. “Do you not trust me, my sister?” It seems as if every single member of the pack is asking me. Their eyes are fixed on me, and not a single one of them, not even my guide who’s laughed from the beginning, is laughing any longer. Holy nightmare. And yet, that’s what I’m here for, isn’t it? 

I’d braved that gorge when I’d encountered it, following the trace of her motions in the underbrush. I’d turned back only to gain space for a run-up, gathering momentum until I was running full tilt, flying across the gaping emptiness to slam into its opposite face, startling a gecko, or lizard, or something – not my strong suit, saurians. He and I had locked gazes for a moment, then he’d winked at me – I swear he had – and slithered away. So, I’d thought, he isn’t the one then, and had scrambled up that cliff face to look further. 

I’d heard the bird’s cry, next. I’d been pretty sure, from the sound alone, that it had been a raptor, not a songbird, even if I never saw so much as a tail feather. And just now, I’ve heard it for the second time. Encouragement, or warning? And that little gecko? Had he wanted to encourage me? I’m sure I need a bit of a booster, that’s a fact. The wolf pack is still looking at me. 

I take a step forwards, but it doesn’t bring me any closer to them. Another, with much the same result. “How do you expect me to come to you when you keep moving away?” I ask her.

“That is not the move you need to make,” she replies, and I sigh. How about a goddamn straightforward answer for a change?

“And which would that be?” I ask, patience waning.

“You know.”

And suddenly, they’re all gone. Everything is gone. I don’t see anything anymore, not even the forest I was in, the thick, vibrant, wonderful wildwood of my childhood. And just as suddenly, I know they’re back and waiting behind me, here in this pitch darkness, and I realize which move she’s been talking about. 

I hate it. I hate the very idea of it, and I’ve always done so. I’ve refused to do it, both times I’ve been asked. Let yourself fall backwards and we’ll catch you – oh so symbolic. That it should turn up here and now… could almost make you laugh, couldn’t it. And yet I can’t find lightness or laughter, oh no. My chest is tight, in fact, and close with fear. Yes, fear. Silly. Trust. Silly Marie. Simply trust. That’s what it all boils down to, isn’t it? Faith, belief, trust, however you call it – the conviction that things will work. That’s what it boils down to, but do I have what it takes?

* * *

Kathryn watches Marie’s struggle as it plays out on her face’s canvas. Her questions had been fascinating, and Kathryn would dearly love to know what answers they’ve received, but right now, there’s another, more urgent concern. Marie’s breath comes in fast, shallow bouts, and she’s trembling, shaking like a leaf, eyes flickering behind their lids, emotions dancing excruciatingly across her features, the whole goddamn spectrum of fear and doubt. 

Then, suddenly, Marie stands up. Kathryn hears Chakotay’s surprised murmur, sees Marie stand perfectly erect, perfectly tense, like a diver on her spring board. The fighting reflected on her face never stops, not when her chin comes up, not when she spreads her arms, not when she tilts her head even further backwards, exposing her throat. And suddenly, Kathryn knows what’s going to happen, and scrambles from her seat.

“What-?” Chakotay asks, but Marie is already falling backwards. In an instance of almost indecent luck, Kathryn manages to catch her and lower her to the ground safely, putting Marie’s head in her lap while Chakotay takes the three steps that bring him around the little table and to their side, too. 

“Medical tricorder on the bedside table,” Kathryn says tersely, although she’s quite sure it won’t be needed. He nods, and leaves, and Marie opens her eyes.

“You caught me,” she whispers, eyes filled with so many emotions that they’re just as unreadable as if they held none at all.

“Of course I did. As long as there’s breath in me, Marie, I won’t let you fall.”

Eyes shut again, a shuddering breath goes in, then out. Then – Kathryn has seen it before, usually when Marie falls asleep, sometimes when she’s wide awake. Sometimes, her wife will… relax, as it were. As if she ran a little internal diagnostic and flipped every muscle switch from ‘tense’ to ‘restful’. And Kathryn has never thought it incidental that, when doing so, the corners of Marie’s mouth come up, all by themselves – no, this little smile is Marie’s baseline, isn’t it? Usually, at least. And it’s back now, back where it hasn’t been for a while, albeit a little shaky. Kathryn can feel, through her own muscles, Marie’s back relax, her neck release its tension, her head sink slightly to its side, more snugly into Kathryn’s belly. 

Baby Janeway pokes her, as if to say hello. 

Marie giggles, and sobs, and suddenly they both find themselves wrapped around each other, holding and being held, comforting and being comforted, loving and being loved. It’s brittle, this balance, this newfound ground, and again, Kathryn refrains from kissing Marie, no matter how much she yearns to reestablish their connection. Even though she’s sure that it would help, she won’t press that on Marie; how could she? 

So she contents herself with wiping away the tears on both their faces, and takes heart from how Marie doesn’t pull away, how Marie’s eyes stay with hers, open and full.

Then a movement distracts her – Chakotay, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, tricorder still in hand. Kathryn can’t suppress an eye-rolling smile, which turns into laughter, free, if weak laughter, as fragile as this whole, new situation. Marie’s arms tighten around her again, trembling with much the same emotion, while Chakotay looks on, utterly confused, patient as usual. 

“Computer,” Marie pulls away suddenly, “time.”

“It is 0956 hours.”

“Damn,” Marie murmurs, then raises her eyes to Kathryn’s once more. “Rotten timing, huh?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Kathryn cups her cheek, reveling in the familiarity of motion and sensation. “Could have been worse – might have ended with me being scolded for being late.”

Her dryness wins her a grin, that typical, one-sided, wonderful grin of Marie’s. “One thing, though.” There’s even a twinkle in those chocolate-colored eyes, now.

“Hm?”

The kiss is sweet, and delicate, and hesitant, and overwhelming, for all its briefness. It speaks to Kathryn of a struggle that’s not yet over, of a love that was never doubted, of a self that was. Is. Her reply is as simple as she can make it: open arms to fall back into. 

When Kathryn breaks the kiss, reluctant but duty-bound, Marie’s eyes remain closed for a moment longer, insecurity still fighting its battle in the lines around them. Never any curtains with Marie – another kind of bravery. 

“Go,” Marie whispers, then opens her eyes. “Go,” she repeats, smile reaching them via the corners of her mouth. “I won’t let it be said I was the reason for you being scolded. Go, and come back.” 

“I will.”

* * *

Chakotay remains behind, which confuses me for a reason. He smiles and tells me he’s no longer a senior officer on this ship and, thus, not required in the morning briefing. Of course. Then my thoughts return to something much more important to me right now. 

“Tell me… are there any texts about animal guides? What they signify, or something?”

His smile grows teasing. “You’re not supposed to learn about them from books, Marie.”

“But… I want to understand more of what I’ve seen and done. It seemed so full of symbols, of hidden meanings and hints and clues, and I don’t want to miss anything.” He goes on smiling at me, smiling until his dimples show, and I simply know that any other man would be laughing freely. It irritates the heck out of me. “What?” I ask finally.

“You’re very much alike sometimes, Kathryn and you,” he answers. 

It takes me a moment to get his meaning. When I do, I tilt my head in assent. “Can you fault us for being curious?”

“Oh, not at all,” he smiles, “but… why look outside for understanding? Everything you saw came from within you, and so will the knowledge of what it meant.” We return to the sofa and he gathers the contents of his medicine bundle. “I offered Kathryn years ago to help her make her own bundle. I’m offering the same to you, if you want to – I liked how you chose a book as a personal anchor; it seemed very fitting, if you don’t mind me saying.” He throws me a shit-eating grin. Well, yeah, considering what I’ve asked him just now… books are my anchor, no denying that. 

I throw him a very level look, holding out his Akoonah to him. “Oh, it was. Believe me, it was.” I pick the book up next, careful not to dislodge or lose the ring that’s still on top of it. When I return the ring to my pocket, he frowns a little puzzled frown, probably wondering why it doesn’t go to my finger. “It’s hers,” I explain. “She’s got mine. I…” Well. I can’t go on any more than I can meet his eyes, but then he touches my arm and at least I can breathe again. 

“It’ll be alright, Marie.” 

Time for a big breath. “I hope so.”

“Trust me,” he winks, and I grimace, and he laughs. “That’s been the leitmotiv, hasn’t it?”

“Hell yes.” My fingers stroke the back of the book, gliding over the embossed letters. “You know, I never appreciated how easy it is to trust others when you trust yourself. But once you lose that… that self-confidence, suddenly everything careens around like a carousel off its axis.” I run that sentence past my inner ear once more. “At least it seemed so to me. I expect to everyone else things are pretty much the same as before. In a manner of speaking.”

“Seeing as we rendezvoused only yesterday, I can’t really say, but it’s often that way with mind-changing moments.” His smile is gone, but his friendship lingers, and helps me calm down a little further. “You know, I’ve always thought that space was fascinating, and scary, largely unexplored as it was. But I’ve had quite a few moments when the same thing was true of my own mind, and all my training, all my knowledge of starship operations and tactics and the like didn’t help me at all. Sometimes I wonder if that isn’t the truest goal of exploration, the greatest frontier to push back.”

I snort a laugh that startles him, then grin openly at his expression of disbelief. “Come on, man, you’re talking to a social worker. Now you know why I went that way.”

“Now _that’s_ scary,” he joins my laughter. 

“Huh?” My turn for startled disbelief. “How so?”

“Well, considering you were trained for this, it’s almost unbelievable that it…” His words fade away at the look on my face, and he swallows. “She told you about that, didn’t she?”

I nod. “And it’s true. I _was_ trained for this, _you_ were trained for space. No bad feelings about that,” I try to reassure him. About the rest… about what Kathryn had said next… well. That’s for another time. With that resolve, my smile returns. “Also true that it didn’t help me much, in the here and now. Maybe it even was counterproductive, as it were. I mean, the urge to question yourself, your motives, all that – someone who relied on instincts in these matters might have found their way sooner.”

“Have you?”

The question comes so quick that I’m not even sure it was him who asked. Well, have I? “I think… I think I no longer see only the goal, but also a path towards it. But I’m by no means there already. Quite a ways to go still. But…” I nod, slowly. “It seems clearer now than before. Thank you. This was a good idea.”

“Even if you can’t read up on it?” His dimples are back. So is my smile. 

“Between your vision quest and Tuvok’s meditation techniques and Betazoid counseling and…” I take a deep breath. “And my wife’s love, I think I’ll find my peace with that.”

He laughs. I join him.


	10. Chapter 10

“Admiral,” both Picard and DeSoto greet her when they step into her ready room. 

“Gentlemen,” Kathryn returns it. “Please sit down. Tea? Coffee?” Jean-Luc walks towards her replicator instantly, far too much the gentleman to let her do it. “I’m afraid we have a serious situation on our hands.” 

She goes through the abbreviated version of what she told Jean-Luc yesterday for DeSoto’s benefit, then explains what her officers have come up with through the night: No exciting information about the star system that’s at the coordinates they received, no further leads on the iso chip nor on the identity of the person who transmitted it. Kathryn keeps quiet about the fact that her casualties aren’t really casualties, though – that is a trump she intends to keep as long as she can, especially since she can’t rule out that DeSoto might be part of this whole unsavory business.

“Well, strike me blind,” DeSoto breathes when she’s finished. “You know, Jean-Luc, sometimes I long for the good old days when things were easier.” He strokes his chin. “The way I see it, we have two options – get back to HQ, or at least the Yards, and see what’s rotten there, or go to this ‘home base’ and try to unravel this conspiracy from that end.”

“Fortunately, Captain, that is not an either-or decision,” Kathryn smirks. “There’s three ships in this flotilla, I don’t see why we couldn’t split up. You were ordered to search for us – any hints as to why? Any new orders? I daresay you’ve already reported finding us, haven’t you.”

“Sure did; before we enjoyed your hospitality yesterday, in fact. Nothing yet, though. I’d planned to continue our supply run, in fact, after providing each and every assistance you might need, of course, Admiral.”

“Of course.” She smiles at him, then looks at Jean-Luc, eyebrows raised expectantly. 

He shakes his head. “We haven’t heard anything, either. I’ll have my ops officer search our comm. and transporter logs of the last seven days, though – this chip and the orders on it must have come from somewhere. I’d suggest you do the same, Robert.”

“Right away,” DeSoto nods. 

“Why don’t we set a little trap?” Kathryn leans forwards on her elbows, mindful of her cup of coffee. “Say we decide that the _Enterprise_ accompany us instead of the _Hood_. I’ve been told to bring the Borg; why not bring the ship they’re serving on? It would be easier to explain than kidnapping them. Then let’s see who scrambles to jump ship, or set up a comm. link.”

“You could always order their transfers, you know – Admiral,” Jean-Luc hides his smile behind his cup of Earl Grey. 

Kathryn doesn’t bother. “You know, there are whole minutes each day when I forget that I’m not a captain anymore. You’re right, of course. But that would ruin the ruse, wouldn’t it?”

“Quite so,” he agrees. “And, no offense meant, Robert, but the _Enterprise_ offers a bit more firepower than the _Hood_ , if worse comes to worst.”

“None taken, Jean-Luc. Saves me from having to save the galaxy all the time, you know.”

“I daresay you’re getting your shot at it right this moment, Captain,” Kathryn tells him dryly. “I want you to indeed go back to Utopia Planitia; see what you can find out about Beckett – his contacts, his plans and motives, that sort of thing.”

“Apply for a refit once you’re there,” Jean-Luc smirks, “should give you reason enough to stay for a while.”

“You could always ram your ship into mine, you know; then I wouldn’t need a pretext. I reckon a Sovereign could plow into the odd Excelsior without a single wrinkle on her pretty hull.”

“I’m afraid I can’t oblige, Robert. Would reflect very badly on the skill of my pilots, you see.”

“Gentlemen.” Kathryn holds up her hand, raising her cup to her lips with the other. Ah, coffee. “Go with the refit idea, Captain DeSoto; I’m not having any dodgem maneuvers out here, not while I’m looking, anyway.”

“Would work, Admiral, our last refit has been a few years,” DeSoto agrees readily. “I could always say seeing bio-neural circuitry has whetted my appetite, right?”

“That’s the spirit. But before you go, we should establish a way of keeping in touch outside the usual, and tappable, Starfleet channels.”

“I agree, Admiral,” Jean-Luc nods instantly. “I’ll contact Commander Data and Seven of Nine; I’m sure that between them, they’ll come up with something.”

“Have them call Lieutenant Commander O’Hare – he’s my ops officer,” DeSoto says. “He’s the one who’ll go through our log archives, too. I’ll readily vouch for him,” he adds, “known the man for over twenty years now, solid guy, had my back often enough.”

“I’ll have Lieutenant Daurannen on it,” Kathryn nods, “and Healer Kalliste.”

“A doctor?” DeSoto raises his eyebrows. 

“Oh, not just any doctor,” Kathryn smirks. “ _Voyager_ doctors are just shock-full of hidden talents, Mister DeSoto. You’ll see.”

When the door closes behind them, Kathryn leans back and carefully blows out a long breath. “Well, little one,” she murmurs to Baby Janeway, running a hand across her abdomen, “that went smoothly, didn’t it?” Then she contacts the next person on her list.

“What can I do for you, Admiral?” Althea says, a couple of minutes later, sitting down opposite Kathryn.

“I’ve assigned Daurannen and you to a team that’s to set up a comm. link between the _Enterprise_ , the _Hood_ , and _Voyager_. See if you can’t get into both ships’ systems while you’re at it.”

Althea’s grin is about as reassuring as the one that closes in on tourist beaches. “I get you, Admiral.”

Kathryn holds up a finger. “Nothing too creative, mind you.” 

“Don’t worry. I promised, didn’t I? Commanders Troi and Flo and I have finished going through both ships’ crew manifests, by the way; no members of telepathic species, no obvious hints as to who our secret agent could be, not even a hunch who might have put this chip in my pocket.” She sighs, then looks at Kathryn with a different expression in her eyes. “Now – how are you feeling? There was quite a bit of turbulence this morning, wasn’t there?”

Well – Kathryn _had_ known that privacy was a dubious concept at best, with an empath and a telepath on board and right next door, right? Thinking back on all the ‘turbulences’ has her take another deep breath, or as much as Baby Janeway will let her. “You could say that again, Althea. But… I think Marie took a big step in a good direction today.”

“I got that impression, too, in the end – I’m sorry, Kathryn, but…” Althea looks down. “You see, I’m worried about the two of you. Deanna is, too. As friends. And it’s pretty hard to tune out friends, you know? I mean, before the soundproofing was improved-” they share an eye-rolling chuckle, “-if you’d heard yelling from next door, you would have been curious too, wouldn’t you?”

“I understand, Althea, and I thank you.” Kathryn takes another sip of coffee to reassemble her thoughts. “By the way, I think Marie is just as curious about your offer to meet our daughter, so to speak, as I am. Not right now, I’d say, but it’s definitely something she’s interested in.” And the thought warms Kathryn’s insides much more than the coffee does, thermos cup or no. 

Althea’s brilliant smile, too. “I’d be happy to oblige at any time, ailúrion.”

“Hm?” Now what does _that_ mean?

Althea’s smile widens, if that’s even possible. “Oh, it’s… silly of me, really.”

“Out with it already.” Kathryn gets up and walks a few steps, stretching her back muscles. “I can always make it an order, Commander,” she needles when nothing is forthcoming.

“But you won’t, and I’ll tell you anyway – see, ailúros is what people back then used to call… you know Aiolos, or Aeolus?”

Kathryn frowns, looking at the stars. “Wasn’t he a deity?”

“Not really – more of a mythological figure, or rather, several. But one of them was called the Keeper of the Winds, and that connection stuck in people’s minds.”

“Alright, but how-?”

“I’m getting there,” Althea assures Kathryn earnestly, stepping up beside her. “Now, ourá means tail, or trail, or queue. So ailúros would be the wind’s tail, and people would give that name to cats, as a metaphor for how swift cats can be, or how a cat would sometimes flick its tail when angry, you know.”

“Alright,” Kathryn repeats, slowly turning towards the healer, ominous thoughts flicking their own tails in her mind now that she can see where this is going.

Althea chuckles, and nudges Kathryn’s shoulder with her own. “See, and that’s exactly why I thought of you. I mean, ‘Kathryn’ and ‘cat’ is obvious, right, but it’s more than that. Aiolos met Ulysses, and the Odyssey-”

Oh, yes, _that_ metaphor has been thrown at her often enough, thank you. Kathryn holds up her hands again, in defeat this time. “Granted, Althea. But you didn’t say ailúros, you said…”

“Ailúrion, yes.” Now, at last, a bit of color creeps into Althea’s cheeks. “It’s a… diminutive.”

“Don’t tell me it means kitten. I’ll have you brigged if you start calling me ‘kitten’, I swear to any deity you care to name.”

“See that tail flicking?” Althea grins, and Kathryn can’t help but smile along. 

“You’re impossible.”

“I could always call you Kiki, you know.”

“Kiki.” Motionless, and ready to pounce. To stay in the metaphor.

“That’s what ‘Kathryn’ would have devolved into, back then.”

“You’re a dangerous woman, Althea Kalliste Troi.” Then something occurs to Kathryn, and Althea starts shaking her head vigorously, obviously catching up to it. “There must be diminutives for your name, too,” Kathryn, yes, purrs.

“Not that I’m aware of.” Oh, haughty. Kathryn’s smile is wicked, and Althea gives her the satisfaction of squirming. Then her eyebrow comes up sharply. “You don’t want me to reveal my wife’s pet names for me, do you.”

Kathryn laughs out loud, for the first time in months, from the feel of it. “Oh, certainly not. You won’t stop me from doing a bit of research, though, just to have something up my sleeve… contingencies, you understand.”

“Of course, Admiral.” Althea’s delivery is as smooth as any diplomat’s, right down to the little bow. Kathryn laughs again, for the sheer delight of it. 

“It’s good to have you aboard, Althea.” It gets her hugged. Not quite what she’d intended, but… Althea’s arms are strong, and welcoming, her friendship a subtle presence at the edges of Kathryn’s mind – not quite what she can share with Marie, but somehow more than the usual sensation of being embraced, too. Like being wrapped in bird’s wings, or a warm breeze, somehow. Something to relax into, at any rate, and Kathryn does. “Thank you,” she says when she pulls away. “That felt…” _indescribable._

There’s a teasing spark in Althea’s eyes. “I don’t give hugs as often as my wife does, for this exact reason. But right here, right now… it was my pleasure, Kathryn Ailúrion Janeway.”

“More exotic than Elizabeth, that much is certain,” Kathryn murmurs, trying to clamp down on her rampant emotions. The spark in Althea’s smile grows, as does its warmth, and neither is helping a bit. “Oh, let’s go to the bridge before I lose it completely, shall we?”

“Of course, Admiral.”


	11. Chapter 11

“Good evening, Admiral.”

“Seven! Oh it’s good to see you; come in, come in.” Kathryn waves her in from the sofa we’ve been sharing since she came off-duty.

Seven steps in, back straight, hands behind it – reporting for duty, for all that she’s no longer a member of _Voyager’s_ crew. I wonder what she made of coming home to ‘her’ Astrometrics, as it were. “Admiral, our modifications are complete. All three ships will be able to communicate without attracting unwanted notice.”

“Nice of you to stop by and tell me, Seven,” Kathryn smiles amiably, and her tone of voice makes it as good as a question – even to Seven.

“My visit has another purpose as well,” oh, but of course it has. Seven looks as grim as I’ve ever seen her, though, and I wonder just what it might be. “I wanted to speak to you in private – I’ve already spoken to Captain Picard, too, and to Commander Chakotay.” I sit up and start to rise from the sofa, but two raised hands – one Kathryn’s, one Seven’s – stop me. And yet the seriousness on Seven’s face precludes chuckling about that, doesn’t it. 

Her next gesture defers to Kathryn, though, so it’s my wife who speaks up. “Stay, Marie. I guess I know where Seven’s headed, and I think you should hear it – that is, if you don’t mind, Seven. Heaven knows I need everyone I can trust in on this.” 

Seven nods. “I concur with both statements.” So I lean back into the sofa again, while Seven takes a seat on the deep armchair we’ve replaced the chaise longue with, back on Mars – because this pregnant wife of mine falls asleep so readily and often, and doesn’t like a crick in the neck, you see. 

“Two days after you activated Protocol Drillerpiffe,” Seven doesn’t have any troubles with the foreign syllables, but then again, she wouldn’t, right?, “your signal reached me on the _Enterprise_. I did not respond because several things had happened in the meantime that made an immediate contact seem… inadvisable.” She looks as discomfited as I’ve ever seen her. Even Kathryn is worried by now. “During my work with the tactical panel at Starfleet Headquarters, I was asked numerous questions about _Voyager’s_ tactical and technological improvements – not only those that originated in Borg technology, but others as well. This was to be expected, of course, given the nature of our project, but after a while, a pattern emerged. My answers led, in eighty-six point seven four percent of the cases, to a distinctive rise in computer queries to the same subject matter.”

“Which in itself doesn’t sound too suspicious,” Kathryn offers. “Hell, _I_ would check up on such things later on, I suppose.”

My thoughts go into a different direction. “How do you know, anyway?” 

“I began monitoring the access to databases, searched the access logs to verify my findings, and created several subroutines to continue the work without my immediate involvement.”

“You hacked Starfleet?” I almost laugh. Again, the look on Seven’s, and Kathryn’s, face precludes it. Seven seems perfectly at ease with the description after a tilted-head-database-query-of-her-own moment, while Kathryn seems almost mortified at the realization that yes, indeed, that was what Seven had done. 

“It was information I needed, to evaluate the situation,” the Ex-Borg explains calmly. 

“You do know there are rules against that sort of thing, don’t you?” Kathryn shakes her head at the calm look Seven gives her in reply. “Does this, by any chance, have anything to do with your decision not to enter Starfleet?” I cock my eyebrow at that. Seven hadn’t wanted that, either? Well, well, well.

“Not enrolling in the Academy,” Seven answers gracefully, “had several benefits, tactical as well as personal. And yes, I do realize that my actions violated a few minor regulations-” I almost snort again, “-but, considering the overall issue and viewing the outcome, that was acceptable. With all due respect, though, Admiral – I do not intend to discuss the rightness of my move at this point.”

Kathryn opens her mouth and I simply _know_ what’s going to come out is not going to be acceptance, so I speak up before she has the chance to, because I can bear the murderous look that that’s sure to win me. “Which outcome would that be, Seven?” Goal-oriented, I ever was. At least my question derails Kathryn’s thoughts because her curiosity is a pretty strong force, too.

“Although attempts were made to disguise the origin of the queries, I was able to pinpoint them to one individual with a probability of ninety-eight point six percent.” She’s got dramatic talent, Seven has. She pauses for a beat, cocks her implant, even tilts her head before finally saying, “Admiral Edith Brooks.”

“What!” Kathryn flares up. I hold my tongue. The mere fact that an admiral might be in on this conspiracy is bad enough, but Kathryn’s reaction hints at something worse. She notices, though. “Brooks is, apart from Shelby and Picard, the one officer most involved in Starfleet’s anti-Borg tactics,” she explains for my sake. “That she would… Seven, are you completely sure she’s behind this?”

“No. Since I did not observe Admiral Brooks perform these acts in person, there is, of course, no absolute certainty. Nevertheless, I correlated the logged access times with her working hours, the coding sophistication with her apparent level of computer knowledge, and researched several other factors. The runners-up in the list of suspects don’t conform to those factors nearly as well as Admiral Brooks does, which is how I arrived at the degree of probability I just gave you.”

“Runners-up.” Kathryn’s voice, as her face, is stony. Then her brow flinches minutely, and she runs a hand across our daughter, and I hide a smile which, still, she sees, her flick of an eyebrow tells me so.

“The members of the panel, obviously,” Seven answers, “and people who might have an open or masked interest, and access to the proceedings in some way.”

Kathryn runs her hand over her face and through her hair. “Next thing you’ll pull a list out of your sleeve.”

“I have not prepared such an item.” Is that a smile, there at the corners of Seven’s mouth? “Hiding a piece of paper in my garment seems ill-advised, even disregarding several far more convenient methods of storing information.”

I don’t stop my smile this time. God knows I need it. My voice is as dry as Seven’s was, though. “Not to mention how supremely uncomfortable it would be, with sleeves as tight as yours.”

“Indeed.”

Not even Kathryn can resist us. Her mouth twitches just as Seven’s just did. Then her face returns to business mode. “So Admiral Brooks might be a part of this, too – that’s certainly a hint to follow up on, Seven, thank you.”

“It is not the only matter I wished to bring to your attention, Admiral.”

Kathryn does a double take, then smiles self-deprecatingly. “Ah yes. You said. I’m sorry.”

“Quite without reason, I assure you.” Seven changes position slightly, her still-straight posture completely at odds with the cushy comfort of the armchair. “The queries I monitored led me to follow the data flow on the Borg in general more closely, up to and including research on Icheb and myself.”

“You wanted to find out who wanted information on the two of you, and what sort of information they wanted,” I venture, and she nods.

“Precisely. That was a far more wide-reaching research project, though, which was one reason for accepting the posting on the _Enterprise_ when Captain Picard offered it.”

“More computer power,” Kathryn interjects, again for my benefit, and again, Seven nods confirmation. 

“Indeed, and the permission to use it. The other, less obvious reason was that… the general direction of the inquiries, and of the discussions on the panel itself, were… troubling.”

“Oh, Seven.” Kathryn’s eyes are full. “Why didn’t you say?”

Seven evades them for a moment; a rare occasion. “My reasoning was twofold: On the one hand, your own proceedings seemed demanding to the preclusion of almost all other concerns-” oh, Seven’s quite right there, and she’d had Chakotay to talk this over with, right? He’d probably known exactly what Kathryn had been going through and how much space to give her. “And on the other,” Seven continues, her voice getting a bit warmer despite her words, probably to dampen their impact, “I fail to see what your involvement could have changed.”

“Emotional support, Seven,” I say quietly, seeing how Kathryn has to close her eyes at this. “It’s called emotional support. Even if people can’t change a situation, being aware of it might benefit both parties.”

Kathryn touches my leg briefly before opening her eyes again. “Seven…” she has to swallow, because it comes out a croak. “Next time, please, remember Marie’s words and my usual and sometimes inopportune lack of emotional distance.” That sounded like a direct quote of Seven’s if I ever heard one, and I wonder when and where- but Kathryn’s already going on. “I would indeed have liked to know. But, on with this.” She swallows again, then leans forwards expectantly, wriggling her hips a little. It wakes a smile on my face, and a frown on hers. “Or rather, in a minute, if you will excuse me.” She rises and heads for the bathroom. 

“If you would allow a personal observation, Marie-” I wave my hand to tell Seven to go ahead, “you appear to be better than the last time we met.”

I do, huh? “That husband of yours helped,” I smile at her. Granted, I’m not quite back to firing on all thrusters – there’s still that repressed memory, for starters. But at least I can spend time in Kathryn’s company without flinching. By unspoken consent, my wife and I haven’t talked much since she came home this afternoon, but our silence has been – I sneak a look at the book still lying on the tea table – _this_ kind of silence. A silence to relax into, a silence that welcomes you. Definitely a silence to get better in.

“I am pleased. Your emotional well-being is a significant factor of the admiral’s-”

This time, my hand comes up to stop her. “Please don’t say ‘efficiency’, Seven. Wouldn’t quite be appropriate, in context.” I smile at her. “I get what you’re trying to say nevertheless, and I thank you, on the behalf of both of us, for your concern.”

“You’re welcome.” She tilts her head again. “What would have been an appropriate expression?”

“Wha-? Oh. You might say she’s concerned about my well-being, or that it’s important to her how I-”

“Or that she’s able to concentrate on only so many things,” Kathryn smirks, reappearing from the hall, “and worrying about her wife airlocking herself isn’t conducive to her efficiency.”

I can’t help it. I yowl. Even Seven smiles. “Counselor Vey has just informed me that she wouldn’t consider referring to your efficiency in this context an acceptable conversational move.”

Kathryn laughs, too. “I guess I’m more used to your way of putting things.”

“And it’s not Counselor Vey anymore, Seven,” I add. “Marie, remember?”

“In context, it didn’t seem… appropriate.”

It sets me off again, and I relish it. I’d swear she’s done it on purpose. Good heavens, but between the two of them, Kathryn and Chakotay make marvelous parents, don’t they. In a manner of speaking. Well.

* * *

Marie’s chuckle is music to Kathryn’s ears. The fact that it’s been _Seven_ who brought it forth… _She’s come so far._ And ‘pride’ doesn’t begin to touch what Kathryn feels about it. 

“So,” Kathryn clears her throat after she’s sat down with another cup of coffee, and a fresh cup of tea for Marie, too. “You agreed to join the _Enterprise_ …”

“As a civilian advisor, yes. It was, as Lieutenant Paris might call it, a ‘good deal’. All three of us-” and Seven sounds so natural about it, too, as if Icheb was included in that little family as a matter of course. Which, in a sense, he is, isn’t he. “-had the abilities to fill the posts offered to us, with the added benefit of being able to stay together.”

“And use the _Enterprise’s_ computer power to continue your search,” Marie says, sober once again.

“Indeed. Captain Picard proved an e- a good captain,” Marie’s mouth, quirking, threatens Kathryn’s composure, too, “both in terms of his command abilities, and in his concern for Icheb.”

“For someone who claims to be not good with kids, he’s quite the father figure, Althea said once,” Marie comments, to another nod of Seven’s. 

“Captain Picard helped arrange correspondence courses for Icheb’s Academy training, as well as providing an onboard curriculum. I have never seen Icheb more… content. It is gratifying.” Oh, Kathryn can certainly relate to that. So much so, in fact, that she needs to bite the inside of her cheek not to tear up again. “When your message came through,” Seven continues in a more businesslike tone, “I changed a number of parameters in my search programs. The results were worrying, so I ran a series of cross-indexes and diagnostics, to verify them.”

“Let me guess – those queries could also be traced to Brooks?” Marie asks darkly and Kathryn prays that she’s true – not another traitor. 

Seven’s next words put paid to that hope, though. “There were several leads to go on,” the Ex-Borg answers. “While the majority of the research we monitored was centered on _Voyager’s_ technological enhancements, the number and nature of queries regarding Icheb and me was significant enough to warrant further analysis. Which is why, when I picked up the signal ordering the _Hood_ to search for _Voyager_ , I brought the matter to Captain Picard’s attention. He arranged to meet the _Hood_ ‘by chance’ and join the search, judging the matter to take precedence over our mission at that point.”

Seven seems – for her standards – to be supremely uncomfortable. Kathryn can’t help but think back to another _Voyager_ conspiracy, and Seven’s role within it, and marvels that Seven found the confidence to speak up in the first place. Then again, confidence hasn’t exactly been Seven’s problem, has it.

“Our joint research efforts so far,” Seven continues, throwing a fleeting glance at Kathryn, who immediately knows Seven is thinking along the same lines, and returns a reassuring smile, “have given us reason to believe that possible elements of this… conspiracy include, apart from Admiral Brooks, a member of Admiral ten Helder’s staff, as well as at least two people in Starfleet Tactical and one at Utopia Planitia. The targets stated in their messages so far is congruent with the monitored queries, too.”

“The member at the Yards would be Beckett,” Kathryn supplies, then blows out a slow breath. “And ten Helder was in command of the Arcadian branch of Starfleet; it would have been easy for someone on his staff to fabricate that end of things. Good grief, Seven.” She purses her lips.

“Plus there’s someone on the _Hood_ or the _Enterprise_ ,” Marie chimes in, looking thoughtful, “and that home base we’re being sent to must be staffed, too, right? And I doubt that capturing _Voyager_ is Section 31’s only concern – this might be just one project; who knows how many really work for them? What a tangled mess.” She flops back into the sofa’s back rest. “You know, maybe we should set Althea on them,” she says suddenly. “She’s telepathic, right? She’d be able to tell if someone was a conspirator.”

“She did that once,” Kathryn grates, and, seeing Marie’s eyebrows rise at her reaction, adds, “and I forbade her to do it again. You can’t just go walking around inside people’s minds, Marie. I thought you-” she stops herself too late. 

Marie’s grimace seems endlessly tired. “I get you,” she says quietly. “Good causes and right reasons, and then you end somewhere else entirely. I understand that. Still, it would make things easier, wouldn’t it.”

Kathryn won’t let her push that away just like that, though. “I’m sorry, Marie.”

Marie’s gesture is just as weary as the expression on her face. “There’s no way of telling, the Doctor tells me. No way to know whether anyone tampered with my mind. Althea says she tried to reach me, but…” she dips her head. “We haven’t really gone into that yet. I don’t know if I can. Yet.”

“There’s no hurry, Marie.”

“Yes there is,” Marie flares up suddenly. “I hate it! I hate that I can’t recall what happened. I hate being so uncertain, about everything! I hate that I feel so goddamn… wobbly all the time! And don’t you go telling me about patience.” The look she throws at Kathryn – and Seven – is black. “I _know_ that I need to be patient. That does not mean I have to like it. And you said you needed everyone you could trust, and I hate that I can’t be even that.”

“Marie, I-”

“Oh, don’t you say you trust me, Kathryn.” Marie stops, suddenly, and looks at Kathryn dumbfounded for a moment, then her eyes fill. “See? QED. You can’t.”

“What? What in the name of everything straightforward do you mean, Marie?”

“Name – quite the prompt, thank you.” Marie’s chin just sharply forwards. “The first time I say your name since all this… trouble began, and it’s in a spat. And then I realize and start to bawl. Not exactly officer behavior, right?”

“Good God, Marie…” Kathryn’s at a loss. The first time? “I hadn’t… I hadn’t noticed, Marie. Really, it’s not as bad as all this.”

“Well then it shouldn’t hit me this hard, should it?” Marie’s tears really threaten to spill by now. Kathryn throws a quick glance at Seven, who looks… discomfited, and puzzled. Marie sees, and blanches. “I… excuse me, will you.” She doesn’t even wait for an answer. The doors hiss shut behind her in the blink of an eye.

“Wait, please,” Seven says as Kathryn starts to rise, her Borg-augmented hand cool on Kathryn’s fingers. “I will try to talk to her.”

Kathryn complies out of sheer surprise, which doubles when Seven, a couple of minutes later, indeed returns with a reluctant Marie trailing her. 

“You should resolve this,” Seven says. “The advice for patience notwithstanding, there is a considerable potential for harmful misunderstandings, and I would not see your relationship impaired by that. As a…” she straightens almost imperceptibly, “a friend, I thought it my duty to point that out.”

Marie laughs weakly. “She pulled the same stunt in front of the turbolift, you know,” she informs Kathryn. “Told me it would be detrimental to morale if the commanding officer of this ship would be seen running after me, which she told me you were thinking about. Were you?” Her eyes manage to be defiant and vulnerable at the same time.

“Hell yes,” Kathryn replies instantly. “Seven’s right, Marie. We need to resolve this. I want you to talk to me, and I want to give you whatever reassurance I can, to make you feel less insecure. But that won’t work if you run away, you know.”

One corner of Marie’s mouth comes up slowly. “You’re right.” She takes a deep breath, then flops down onto the sofa and looks at the ceiling. “You’re right, and I’m sorry. My apology to you, too, Seven.”

“None is necessary,” Seven replies, head tilted graciously. “I will leave the two of you to ‘talk things out’, then.” The inverted commas drop neatly into place, and both Marie and Kathryn smile. “Should I take up station outside the door?”

Marie fires a cushion at her, which Seven catches easily. “And don’t say you don’t understand the meaning of that, Seven,” she growls, but her mouth, twitching, betrays her. 

“I do.” The cushion is returned to its rightful place. “Goodnight, Ad- Kathryn. Marie.” Again, her words leave Kathryn speechless.

It continues for long enough to feel uncomfortable. Then Marie takes in a sharp breath, exhales far more softly and drawn-out. “I’m sorry, Kathryn.”

“Did you really not say my name until right now?”

Marie nods. “I wanted to, several times. I couldn’t bring myself to do it – it’s such a… your name has always been special to me, just as the way you say mine.” Her eyes drop to the tea table and the book lying on it. “I guess it was a little bit of superstition, too. Somehow I guess I thought if I called you by your name, things would be… real. More real than before. And I… I want them to be, and I tried to persuade myself to…” She breaks away, frowning. 

“Marie, what-” an upheld hand bids Kathryn stop, though.

Again, a silence grows long, a frown grows stronger. Eyes flicker this way and that. Kathryn’s just about to ask Marie to tell her what’s on her mind when Marie starts to speak, hesitantly, dubiously. “I never was good at relying on other people – I don’t mean trusting them,” she adds, somehow knowing that Kathryn is about to protest, and without looking at her, either. “Trust, I do. As in, know people, and their reactions. Reliance is something else again, isn’t it? It’s when you need other people, really need them, instead of only knowing what they’re capable of.” 

Marie huffs a laugh. “Maybe I got introduced to the wrong sort during a formative period, huh. Maybe I shouldn’t have read so much about self-reliance. But it worked, didn’t it?” Now she looks at Kathryn, who can’t do anything but look back, baffled. One corner of Marie’s mouth comes up, quite without humor. “Self-sufficiency. Comes with a quick mind, and self-confidence, and leads to an easy rapport with other people, because I don’t really need them, you see. If I lose them, well, I might not like it but I’ll live on, right? So far, so sensible.” Her chin moves forwards slightly. “So dangerous. I never learned to rely on other people. I couldn’t wait to burn the bridges to my parents when I realized how different we were, how little they understood me. Rather than relying on their continued love, I constructed a life where I didn’t need it. 

“Ellie – I always thought she needed me far more than I needed her. No, strike that – I thought I didn’t need her at all. Oh, make no mistake that she’s dear to my heart and that I’d suffer if I lost her, but no, confident Marie Vey wouldn’t crumble if she lost a friend. And then what does my treacherous subconscious do and blurt out to her that if she ever moved away from Cologne, I’d follow her?” Again, that huff of a laugh. “Figures, doesn’t it. And then I meet you, and oh, how you need me, and oh, how stalwart Marie Vey flies through it, providing all the right bits and pieces. And she just clicks into place,” a snapping of fingers, “in the twenty-fourth century of another universe, because, lo and behold, she never was all that attached to anything in the twenty-first anyway, and the only person our dear Marie really couldn’t have gone without came with her, didn’t she? 

“So does our champion notice? Oh no. She even _counsels_ people,” this time Marie’s laugh is almost harsh and completely unsettling, “cheers her best friend when she takes flight and it drives home that she doesn’t need that pillar of strength anymore.” Eyes close, a mouth twists in a bitter and quite forlorn way, trying very hard, and very unsuccessfully, not to tremble. “I can’t, Kathryn. I can’t rely on only myself any longer, and I have no idea how to go about it. My animal guide told me. In so many words, with that move she bade me take, hell, the whole scenario – pack animals, Kathryn. Oh so symbolic, all of it. Nobody’s an island, and so on.” Her eyes come up to meet Kathryn’s. “I’m scared shitless, Kathryn. I figured I needed help, alright, but this…” she ends the sentence on a vague, circling motion and a shrug. 

Kathryn opens her mouth, finds that she doesn’t have the slightest idea what to say; closes it again. Then she shuffles closer to Marie. One hand to her cheek, one to her shoulder, Kathryn pulls her wife close, awkward as it is, side by pregnant side. The kisses she presses on Marie’s face, the love and reassurance that rides on them, seem to hiss away like water on hot sand, a crescendo of ache and solace until finally, finally Marie starts to cry. It’s another crescendo, one that takes far longer to peak and subside again. And all the while, her emotions pour through Kathryn like a flash flood, unpredictable, volatile, turbulent. 

“Clears away a lot, huh,” Marie mutters when she has air enough to speak again. “Like a thunderstorm.”

“Catharsis.” Kathryn can’t help but smile when Marie chortles, truly amused by the sound of it. Again, a silence falls, but it’s far more… friendly than before.

Then, “I chose wrong, didn’t I.” It comes out so matter-of-factly that for a moment, Kathryn doesn’t even know what Marie’s talking about. “That day on the holo-ship. It’s the only logical conclusion,” she continues when Kathryn doesn’t answer. “I thought I chose right, but I didn’t. No wonder I don’t want to know.” She shudders. “Kathryn?” 

“Yes,” Kathryn has to clear her throat again, “yes, that’s… what happened. Flo called out to Deanna and Althea to verify your choice, and they realized what happened; Althea personally beamed me over to _Voyager_. Took quite a bit out of her, but we all arrived safe and sound in cargo bay two. Then you turned around, arms empty, and looked at me and started screaming.” Kathryn hates how her voice fades away over that sentence, hates how the last word doesn’t rise above a whisper, hates the shell-shocked look on Marie’s face.

White as a sheet, features all sharp and angled planes, Marie nods. “Nervous breakdown. I remember that, in some way. The Doctor sedated me. I even incorporated that bit into the first… dream, or whatever it was.” Again, a shudder runs through her. When clenching her teeth doesn’t suffice any longer, she raises her hand to her mouth, biting down hard. Kathryn knows the process, knows how it feels from the other side. When Marie’s eyes flutter close, Kathryn moves forwards again, running the tips of her fingers over Marie’s eyelids, her widened nostrils, the trembling tension of her jaw.

“Marie.” Down her neck, and up into her headline, until Marie shakes like a leaf. “Marie, look at me, please.”

Those eyes are almost black, the pupils are so wide. “Kathryn…” One hand, free at last if wearing bite marks, reaches up towards Kathryn’s cheek, connecting in a one-fingered, hesitant touch. “I abused you, in another of those dreams,” an almost disembodied voice announces. 

Kathryn blinks rapidly. “You…” she begins weakly, not knowing which question to ask first. She doesn’t have to, though. Marie closes her eyes again, brow knitted so intensely that Kathryn’s own forehead hurts, and tells a tale so bleak and cruel that, indeed, no other word seems to fit. “That wasn’t you abusing me, though, love,” Kathryn says when another silence announces that she’s heard all of it. Marie’s mouth opens sharply, and Kathryn goes on, “no, wait, Marie. Even if it had been real; even if, for some reason, both of us had acted so out of character – the operative word is ‘both’, Marie. Both of us used the other for our own ends; at least I would call it that, from what you tell me.”

Marie balls her fist in her lap, staring down at them. “Yeah. And just when I realize I need to rely on other people, I can’t stop thinking of abusing the most important person in my life.”

“Marie… it wasn’t rea-”

“It was, to me!” The yell rings through the room. Then Marie’s eyes find Kathryn’s again, asking, _begging_ for understanding Kathryn isn’t sure is warranted. “Don’t you see? It was my brain telling me these things, my subconscious mind.”

“That might make it your fears, Marie, but it doesn’t make it true, however real it felt.” Kathryn catches those two fists in her hands. “I know how real such things can feel, but you need to see them for what they are, Marie, in order to leave them behind you. I can’t see you treating me like that, and, honestly, I don’t think I could act like that, either.” This time, her gaze lands on the book quite on purpose, it seems. “‘I have woken up and I am real’, isn’t that what she said? And that waking up is harder than dreaming?”

Marie’s eyes are on the book, too. Emotions flicker across her face almost too quickly to make out. There’s a little smile, a frown of pain, a pursing of lips. Resolve in her gaze, too, when it comes up again, and a question. “I never appreciated just how hard, you know. I never thought it would take more than I had in me. And while, yes, I certainly hope that abusive behavior like that is out of character for either of us…” she shakes her head, slowly. “I think I can manage not to act like that. And for what’s it worth, I think I can also manage believing you wouldn’t do something like this.” Kathryn swallows. She hadn’t thought about that angle. “Again, this is about trust, Kathryn,” Marie goes on, “and… as I said to Chakotay, it’s easy to trust others if you trust in yourself, but if you lose _that_ … I have no idea how to rely on other people, and yet everything seems to point me towards accepting that I have to. Have to trust your judgment, your assurance that this is indeed real. I’ve never done that before, to this degree. I have no idea how it works”

“Well, usually, you just…” Kathryn rolls her eyes at herself, but really, what else can she say? “-do it.”

The good thing about it, though, is that Marie joins her smile.


	12. Chapter 12

It’s taken the _Enterprise_ and us eight days to get here. I don’t know where ‘here’ is, but Kathryn has made good on her words – I’ve been privy to most other things that have happened. I’m minding the kids during alpha shift and a bit into beta, at first with someone else around to help, on my own after two days – there was just too much to do and prepare for, Commander Troi explained. I met her searching eyes (and mind, too, quite probably) with enough confidence that she smiled – then again, we have had a few counseling sessions so far. Confidence. I’m finding it again, a bit at a time, some days more than others. 

She’s asked me to think of things to ground me – not in these exact words, but when I repeated Chakotay’s instructions for the vision quest, she nodded agreement. So, now, when something kicks up my doubts again, I take out Kathryn’s ring, or touch it in my pocket. No, I haven’t returned it to its rightful place yet. That’s a step I don’t quite feel up to, fraught with symbolism as it will be. And Commander Troi has asked me, too, to signal my wife or my friends when I feel the need for reassurance – that was quite a bit harder, both to think, and to talk about it. The success of it, though… I don’t think I’ve ever been at the receiving end of so many encouraging touches in my life, and it’s gratifying and frightening and threatens to send me down bawling alley, although that is getting better by now. 

Take the get-well cards, for example – display them prominently, Troi had said, every single one of them. The end result was overwhelming, both to Kathryn and to me; a whole wall of our quarters is covered with them now, Naomi’s painting in pride of place smack center. Baby Janeway… our daughter, who hears my voice. 

Althea… made true on her offer. In a stealth move of her and my wife, the healer appeared at our door one night, and stepped in so quickly that I didn’t have time to bolt, much as I wanted to. I don’t think I even realized what was happening until she pulled me in, and… 

Again, I’m not certain I know the words to describe it. ‘Fuzzy’ comes to mind, and ‘content’, and ‘miracle’, again. Our daughter is a definite presence, and by now not only to telepaths and empaths, but to both her mothers, too – Althea left the link open, as it were, between Kathryn and our daughter, so that now, whenever we kiss, I can get a glimpse too. 

There are no words for how grateful I feel about that. 

There are a few words that come close to my sense of wonder at this new life that we are bringing into the world, but they’re the kind of words associated with a lifestyle of colorful bumper stickers and strange-smelling cigarettes, so I’ll keep them to myself. Suffice it to say that eight days of – relatively – quiet traveling have provided my wife and me with eight evenings of, well, domestic bliss, if you will. Unsettled as I still feel a lot of times, I desperately need it. 

The good thing – no, the incredible thing, is that people around me really do catch me when I stumble and fall. Althea is incredible for taking my mind off things and directing it down other, more important paths. Dinners with Seven and Chakotay are more intimate, and so intriguing that no other thought enters my mind in the first place. B’Elanna giving Kathryn pregnancy advice is frankly priceless, as is the soft contentment of lulling Miral to sleep (seems I’m still good at that). Tom makes me laugh and take things lightly. Family evenings with the Parises and the Trois provide warmth, and laughter to sink back into. And as to friends: Sam Wildman has come in on my shift twice, to relieve a shaking, sorry mess of me, and hasn’t complained once, on the contrary – she’s been so sweet each time, and hasn’t even let me thank her. 

Kathryn… Kathryn listens to me, and holds me, through nightmare, panic, doubt; never once letting go or allowing me to evade her. And not running away comes easier the more I stay with her. Her kisses – her love… still a double-edged sword, what with my memory of that dream, but that’s my task, isn’t it? To look that memory in the face and tell it, you can’t hurt me. I don’t always manage, but that’s when I don’t fall but land in someone’s arms, as it were, so I guess I’m learning a good thing, either way. 

The nursery is taking shape. 

We’ve talked about names, and shortened the list _Voyager’s_ crew has graciously provided to manageable size.

We talk about a lot of other things. About maternity leave, about how this mission will play itself out with a pregnant CO (it will work, between said CO and her very capable XO, Kathryn assures me), about what we’re going to do afterwards. About the birth, a little, and oh, how _that_ topic unsettled me. And about our inner workings, the outspoken agreement being to talk about anything and everything that comes to mind, shields down, no punches pulled. Isn’t too easy for me, but on the other hand, I can see the sense of it, and Kathryn… I can see her reaching out to me, all the time, even through mood swings or our daughter’s kicks. Makes me want to fall down at her feet and worship her, or, barring that, make it up to her in every way I can. And there are indeed times when I can, be it a foot rub or a back rub, a slow and awkward dance around our quarters (her smile had blown me away), or a movie on the sofa, or a kiss without darkness at its fringes. 

The first time we made love after the holo-ship incident was, in terms of hesitancy and sheer, chest-curdling terror, comparable only to my very first time, if that. Starting with the simple, looming fact that I couldn’t say when we last made love before that – this year? I simply don’t know, and somehow I was horrified to ask – right down to the problem of how you go about it, with an almost-seven-months pregnant woman. 

Took us a while. Took a lot of my wife’s patience and knowledge about the scientific approach to things, too, and an inordinate amount of blushing and laughing and false starts, but we managed. Feeling golden, molten relief course through Kathryn’s veins, through lips I never once removed… definitely worth it. Feeling my wife spin a cocoon of love and desire around me until I dissolved – did I mention falling down at her feet and worshipping her? 

She’s tired, though – well, she wasn’t too tired that evening, but she’s tired in general, I suppose. Her sleeping pattern has changed with the pregnancy, but, and Althea deserves at least a medal for this, it seems whatever that miracle-worker has done this time helps Kathryn to tune our daughter’s waking and sleeping moments better to her own, or vice versa. The bridge crew is enormously helpful, too. ch’Vlossen abounds in anecdotes of Andorian pregnancies, Kathryn tells me, and Daurannen, whom I did _not_ have chalked down as the type to do something like that, has had a pull-out bed installed in Kathryn’s ready room that’s much more comfortable than just curling up on that sofa will ever be. And I don’t think it’s currying favor on Daurannen’s part, either – she’s fielding just as much of Kathryn’s usual load of paperwork as Deanna does, or so Deanna tells me, and that’s not something you do for points. Starship paperwork is something you do out of honest, friendly consideration.

They can’t stop Kathryn from racking her brains about the whole matter, though, and I guess that’s where a lot of my wife’s exhaustion comes from. I’m not much help, either – I never received that tactical training, have I? And too many things hinge upon what we’ll find on this home base to set any elaborated plans into motion beforehand. I daresay Kathryn and Jean-Luc and their officers have a few things up their sleeves, but those can only be contingency plans, can’t they. 

At least I know my part and position in the greater scheme of things – stay with the kids, keep them safe, so that their parents can concentrate on their tasks. The drills related to that job were the only tactical exercises I got – what to do and where to go in emergencies, how to secure a room; a refresher course in first aid. Mick is blooming, though, much to his surprise; I had Flo include him in every exercise, and Naomi, Andrea and Sennek in a few of the easier ones, and they’re, all four of them, taking to the responsibility and seriousness of the situation much better than I would have guessed. Then again, they’re Starfleet kids, each and every one of them. But Mick really cuts the mustard. 

Hell, yesterday he told me that for the first time, he understood the burden of command, and though I managed not to choke on _that_ , he then proceeded to ask me to tell the Admiral (and yes, you could hear the capital A) that he was sorry for being so angry with her over the death of his uncle. I declined, of course. Told him the Admiral would very much appreciate being told in person, and to contact Commander Troi for an appointment to see _Voyager’s_ commanding officer in private. He breathed deeply, then squared his shoulders and nodded. God, what I would have given to have been a fly on that wall.

And what wouldn’t I give to be a fly on the bridge wall at the moment, now that I can see us swinging into orbit.

* * *

“Report,” Kathryn says as soon as she’s through the door leading to the bridge. 

“There seems to be a settlement on the second-largest continent, Admiral, but it’s surrounded by a dampening field; I can’t tell you much,” Daurannen grates that last bit as if that field had personally affronted her. Kathryn would smile, but Daurannen has been thoughtful enough to inform her of reaching their destination with five minutes to spare, time enough to visit the bathroom, freshen up, have a cup of coffee, and you don’t tease someone who was so sweet just now.

“ _Enterprise_ , do you read?” Not that the flagship’s sensors should fare much better – even when they set out to the Badlands, _Voyager’s_ sensors had been more sophisticated than any other ship’s, up to and including the famous Sovereigns’. But now, after Borg enhancements and a complete overhaul? No, the _Enterprise_ is quite outclassed and both commanding officers know it. Still, it behooves to ask, doesn’t it.

The screen changes to a view of another bridge. “Picard here; Admiral, we see just about as much as you do, down there.”

 _I doubt that, my friend._ Kathryn’s thought is interrupted by Daurannen, though. “Admiral, we are being hailed.” 

Her eyebrows come up, as do Jean-Luc’s. “On an open frequency?” 

“On the frequency indicated in the last message, ma’am. Do you want me to keep the channel to the Enterprise open? I can configure it so that whoever’s calling doesn’t notice; Captain, you should refrain from commenting, though.”

“I understand,” Jean-Luc agrees, gesturing to Data to mute his transmission on their end.

“Put it through, Lieutenant,” Kathryn tells Daurannen, then turns towards the viewscreen again. 

The face that appears is nightmarish, and not really unexpected – the doppelganger impersonating Kathryn had been a Lethean, too, after all. Good thing it has made Kathryn re-familiarize herself with the species, too; it’s one thing to know your opponent is telepathic, quite another to be sure his range doesn’t extend much beyond his range of hearing. “What’s the meaning of this?” he – to judge by the pitch of his voice – splutters. “I did not expect you to turn up bringing company.”

“Think of it as capturing one ship and getting another one for free,” Kathryn returns more lightly than she feels. 

Strange how some mannerisms are the same across several species. Narrowing eyes, for example. “You have secured the ship, then?”

“Completely,” _Voyager’s_ commanding officer nods. “Do you want us to land her now?” Those coordinates had designated a planetary location, after all. 

“Not yet. Stay in orbit with the _Enterprise_ for the while, but beam down with Gepa and the Borg immediately. Narasak out.”

“Gepa?” Jean-Luc wonders out loud when his comm. link’s audio feed is restored.

Kathryn holds up a hand to bid him wait. “Commander?” she turns to Troi.

“As the other Lethean on this operation, this one doesn’t seem too bright,” the half-Betazoid answers instantly. “I doubt that he is in command of this home base. I would presume that both Letheans have been drafted for being telepathic and ruthless about it rather than for their… creative thinking.”

“Thugs,” Kathryn grates agreement. “‘Gepa’ might be the other impostor, or the agent who gave us these coordinates.” No transfers, no stowaways. Either that agent is still on the _Enterprise_ , or he or she had returned to Earth with the _Hood_. And while neither is a particularly reassuring thought, at least Kalliste had been able to verify the integrity of the _Enterprise’s_ computer systems.

Troi nods to Kathryn’s words. “That was my impression. He certainly seemed to be familiar with whoever Gepa is, though not in a friendly way.”

“Well, Jean-Luc,” Kathryn turns towards the viewscreen again, “if there still are no requests from any of your crew to join us, I’d say we can assume Gepa is the name of Kalliste’s late doppelganger.”

“None that I’m aware of, Admiral,” he smiles. “I don’t think it’s advisable for you to beam down there, though.”

“Thank you for your concern, Captain, but I don’t see a way around it,” Kathryn sighs. “We don’t have holo-emitters like theirs, and if we’re going to meet a telepath down there, I can’t send the Doctor disguised as me.” It had been one of their plans, and Kathryn hates to see it dashed. “Even if the Lethean will be able to tell I’m not really who he’s expecting either, chances are I can hold him off longer, with the shielding techniques I’ve learned over the last few days.” Another contingency plan, deeply appreciated in hindsight, and Kathryn nods her thanks to Troi once more. 

Jean-Luc tugs at his lip gravely. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you to take all necessary precautions, Admiral, but – be careful. I’ll tell Seven to beam over to _Voyager_ directly.” And another – Icheb is already here, and hidden in the still-active dampening field around decks seven and eight. For all his emphasis on wanting to come, his commanding officers had agreed that it would only endanger him and not serve any purpose. 

“Admiral, the Doctor will meet you in the transporter room,” ch’Vlossen informs her quietly as she passes him by on her way to the turbolift. 

“The transponders, yes,” Kathryn nods. “Will they work through this particular field?”

“Sensors indicate as much, at least as far as communication is concerned.” She can almost smell his distaste for her going down alone, and, not having any words to reassure him with (she feels much the same way, after all), she pats his arm.


	13. Chapter 13

I know something’s wrong when the red alert klaxons sound. I’m not on classroom duty (it’s Gunnarson’s turn today), but I figure another pair of hands might be needed, so I check the computer to verify the kids are indeed where they should be, the interior room we’ve relocated the classroom to after we’d set out. Much more sensible – no windows, no danger of them or the bulkheads, breaching. Much more boring, too, but the children understand, thankfully, provided it is, as promised, only temporary. 

“Troi to Vey.” I’m barely out the door when my combadge chirps, though, and my heart freezes at the tone of her voice. Oh, bad. 

“Vey here, Commander; what is it?”

“Please report to the briefing room immediately.”

“On my way.” What else can I say, after all? Bad, my thoughts repeat, very, very bad.

Indeed, her night eyes are bleak when I enter, and I take a little offense at her sitting so very calmly at the apex of the table – that’s Kathryn’s place. All the rest of the senior staff is there – well, except for Althea, but she’s not senior staff, is she. Apart from her, there’s only the one other exception, but it’s shouting to the world. To me, at least. “We’re evacuating,” she says, and I blink, trying to sort out the implications. “We’ve been told to land _Voyager_ on the planet, and to get as many people off the ship as we possibly can.”

“And Kathryn’s left the ship first?” I don’t really believe that, but she isn’t here, is she?

“In fact,” Troi says, and I grit my teeth at her composure, “the orders came from the admiral, personally.”

The penny takes a moment to drop. Then… “What?!” I shout. I can’t help it. “She’s down there?”

“We believe she might be under duress,” ch’Vlossen cuts in, and I turn my outrage on him. “The two orders came through different channels; the one to land came from the admiral over a standard comm. link, the other came through a subcutaneous transponder Seven was implanted with. And, before you ask, yes, Seven is down there as well.”

“How the-”

Troi interrupts me. “Marie, we have no idea what’s happening, either. We will try to stage a rescue mission once we’ve landed, together with several officers of the _Enterprise_ , who’s been ordered out of the system by Seven, too. I wanted to let you know we’re doing everything we can-”

As if. “Hold it right there,” I interrupt her in turn. “I’m going with you.”

“You are-” ch’Vlossen begins, but Troi holds up a hand in a borrowed gesture – well, it’s what you do if something works so well, isn’t it. 

“Marie, what do you hope to accomplish, going down there?” she asks me.

I take a deep breath. What indeed? “I don’t intend to sit by and wait while Kathryn’s in danger,” I begin, knowing full well that this is a pretty weak argument, especially considering all the talks I’ve had with the commander, about trusting in and relying on other people. Well – there’s a time and a place, right. “I’m fast, I’m strong, I can think on my feet. I’ve become quite a good shot by now, and you won’t find anyone more strongly motivated. On the other hand, I think I can compartmentalize things well enough to function under duress,” I shoot a venomous glance at an Andorian who returns my look quite unperturbed. “And I’m not Starfleet, even though I know the rules and regs.” I end my list, and Troi’s eyebrow comes up.

“Meaning…”

“Meaning I’m not bound by any oaths or Starfleet regulations,” I tell her, voice and eye steady as rock. “Maybe you need someone like that, when you’re going against a foe that doesn’t feel restricted by them, either.”

“Meaning you can fight dirty when we can’t,” ch’Vlossen says, but there’s a glint in his eye now.

Troi nods, once, then changes the topic, leaving me speechless. “Daurannen, what’s our status regarding personnel?”

The head of ops peruses her PADD. “Everyone except the senior staff and our casualties are on the _Enterprise_. Commanders Chakotay, Riker and Data are on their way up from the transporter room as we speak; the _Enterprise_ is ready to leave, pending the decision whether Miss Vey will go with them. We’re clear for landing, too.”

The door opens to reveal the three men she just talked about, and I throw a quick smile at Chakotay while they say their hellos. 

“Commander,” Troi turns to Chakotay, “I want you to lead the away team. Your added expertise as an ex-Maquis could prove an important asset. Problem, Commander?” She fires an eyebrow at Riker, who trades his smirk for a very transparent poker face and decisive shake of head. “Very good. ch’Vlossen, you’re with them; take two more officers with you. Tom, I want you to get down to our casualties and get them ready to come out at short notice in case we’re boarded; Veral, you I want in the M-CAR on the switchboard – monitor the integrity of our systems, too, I don’t want them tampered with again. B’Elanna, secure the engine room and keep _Voyager_ ready for immediate take-off.”

Riker is no longer hiding his grin as Troi rattles off command after command. When she falls silent, he cocks an eyebrow at her, then looks at me poignantly. 

“Ah, yes.” Troi stands and walks over to me, subjecting me to the full force of her most scrutinizing half-Betazoid ex-counselor first officer gaze. “Think you’re up to it?”

“Yes.” The assertion flies out of my mouth, quite without asking permission. A half-smile greets it, and another nod.

“Gear up, then,” she says. “Dismissed.”

~~~

ch’Vlossen, Riker and Chakotay talk me through several tactical scenarios in the turbolift, more in the room where we meet Richards and Bellini and outfit ourselves with dark grey fatigues and phasers, still more when we report to sickbay for little finger-long emergency hypos and our transponders. It’s more than eerie to hear voices inside my head, as it were, but everyone takes it so calmly I guess I have to follow their example. Riker keeps looking at me in a strange way, for some reason. 

Finally, he finds it in himself to address me. “You’re the admiral’s wife, aren’t you?”

I frown. “Among other things,” I tell him brusquely. 

He smiles an easy smile and holds up his hands. “No offense meant, Miss Vey.” Well, at least he remembers _that_ from Troi’s introduction. “I was just wondering…”

“How you got landed with me?” 

“Your words, not mine,” he concedes, and I glare at him. “I know it irks Deanna to stay behind while we go find them,” he continues and suddenly something ch’Vlossen’s told me in the ‘lift falls into place. 

“Althea is down there, too.” Holy mess-up. How can Deanna stand it? “And her children are heading away on the _Enterprise_.” 

“I saw them arrive,” he nods. “They’ll be safe. Nevertheless, yeah – that’s the long and short of it.”

“It is a sound command decision to stay behind under these circumstances,” Commander Data speaks up. He seems… odd, until I remember reading about an android onboard _Enterprise_ – him? “Commander Troi is _Voyager’s_ first officer, and the away team seems adequately staffed.”

“What do you make of our latest addition then, Data?” Riker asks him with a gleam in his eye. Testing me? Well, he can have that if he wants to. 

“Not knowing the full extent of Miss Vey’s capabilities, I can only guess.” His mode of speech is peculiar. Stilted like Seven’s, but differently. That tilt to his head is a bit like hers, too. “Nevertheless, I have often experienced the commander’s decisions to be appropriate in hindsight, even if they seemed surprising at the outset. Miss Vey’s inclusion could be what is sometimes referred to as a ‘wild card’.” And he, too, has the ability to pronounce inverted commas, it seems. He sketches a little bow to me. “I am looking forward to seeing your performance, Miss Vey.”

“Thank you, Commander,” I reply weakly. “I shall try to live up to that.”

“Nothing like advanced praise, is there?” Riker grins again. 

We’re on deck fifteen, in the most cramped space _Voyager_ has to offer. The plan is to get out through the landing strut housing, in case the main egress point – the shuttle bay – is being watched. The sound of the landing gear engaging rattles our teeth, as does the jolt when we touch down. 

“Remember, people, it’ll be dark out there,” Chakotay repeats, as if the mere fact that we’ve been spending the last five minutes at five percent illumination wasn’t enough of a reminder. “And we might get shot at,” he goes on, looking at the PADD in his hand. “Fennen has set us down exactly as planned, which means the field generator is five hundred meters dead aft. Ready?” To six nods, he returns a single one. “Let’s go.”

Once through the hatch, I find myself climbing down a row of sparse handholds apparently there for that express purpose. No one’s shooting at us yet, and we hasten through the night lit by _Voyager’s_ belly beacon, keeping in the shadow of the strut we’ve climbed down from. 

“All stop,” Commander Data’s voice sounds in my head. “Perimeter sensors,” he continues. “I will try to remodulate them to allow us to pass without giving off a warning.” In the end, I pass him while he holds out his arm, golden skin gleaming and a… compartment open and blinking furiously. Good grief. 

“On, everybody. Still two hundred and sixty meters to go,” Chakotay says after Data has closed everything that should be closed again; circuits, sensor fields, arm. 

Finding I can easily keep up with the rest of them results in the most feral grin I’ve ever felt compelled to. Here I am, after all I’ve been through these past few months, on the hunt for my pregnant wife and my friends. Oh, I can certainly recognize an adrenaline kick when I’m in the middle of one, but still, this is wild, isn’t it? And it feels more real than anything I dared to hope for – more so when phaser fire comes out of the darkness ahead. 

“Scatter!” Chakotay orders, and I veer to the right, ducking and zigzagging and narrowly avoiding Lieutenant Bellini’s hunched form. She grins at me with much of the same grim exhilaration I feel, and heads off at an angle. I find a tree stump to take cover behind, and Commander Data next to it, firing into darkness that’s probably no great impediment to his android senses. 

“I see our target,” he confirms, “and a contingent of ten guards. Additionally, there is an automated defensive phaser array on the roof of the building. Its shots are longer than the usual bursts of handheld phasers, and it is stationary. I would advise you to concentrate your fire on it.” 

Apparently, he hasn’t only spoken to me – four bursts of phaser fire hit the array in short order after its next volley, and the last one of those, a sustained one from somewhere off to the left, takes it out in a shower of sparks. I only hope whoever fired that shot didn’t give away their position. I stop wondering about that, however, when a few shots hit our little hideaway and we’re forced to abandon it – trees offer only so much shelter against fire, after all.

“I will cover you for three seconds, then move away to the right,” Data tells me smoothly, and I nod, turn, and sprint to the left, then turn to almost the opposite direction, rolling underneath a streak of fire – angels and ministers of grace. I’m a social worker, not a… whatever this mission would take. I blindly run a few steps ahead for a change, then drop behind a boulder that’s far too small for comfort, and keep my eyes shut for two seconds. I know about night vision, after all, from astronomy projects in grammar school – I almost laugh at wondering what Mrs. Lange would make of me right now. A shadow moves past and I follow on its heels, the familiarity of its shoulders telling me that it’s Chakotay. When another shadow rises in front of him for close combat, I fire without a moment’s hesitation. 

“Thanks,” he pants.

“Not for that.” 

He stuns another attacker. “Almost there, huh? That’s at least two dow-” a shot takes his feet from under him, and leaves me alone in the dark. I dive to the ground and roll, firing blindly at where I think the burst has come from, and slam into someone who grunts in Commander Riker’s voice. 

“Cover me,” he orders crisply, then lunges forwards towards a dimly visible doorway, ducking and rolling while I take out the guard who fired at him. I go on blasting away at the doorway, trying to deter whoever might be hiding inside from sneaking outside, until I see the commander’s shadow reach the dark square and crouch down two feet to the left of it. 

“I’m on you, too, Commander,” ch’Vlossen’s voice, “everyone, pipe up.”

“I’m five meters from Commander Riker’s position,” I answer immediately, “clear sight of target.”

“Twelve point eight meters,” Data, “unobstructed sight.”

“Bellini here; I’m with the commander, he’s coming around but it’ll be a few seconds before the inoprovaline kicks in.” 

“Eight meters and off to the left, but there’s-” Richard’s voice turns into sounds of a scramble, heavy breathing, then nothing. 

My breathing suddenly comes heavier, too. Two of ours down, one to an uncertain fate. 

“Stay with the commander for the time being, Lieutenant,” Riker says, “Data, move to my position – we’re going in. Vey, ch’Vlossen, keep up the cover fire, then follow us, but go carefully.”

“Aye, sir,” ch’Vlossen answers, and I echo him. 

When the hunched shadow of Commander Data reaches the doorway, he throws something in, then crosses to where Riker waits and pulls him a few steps off towards the corner of the building. “Duck and cover your eyes, please,” he says, his voice cool inside my head. There’s a whine of overloading energy cells, then an explosion shakes the structure. Clenched shut as my eyes are, it’s still visible through the lids, and again, I keep them closed for a heartbeat to allow my pupils to dilate again. 

“Vey, advance, I’ll cover you,” ch’Vlossen says, and I comply. 

The small building – one control room and the massive generator array – is in shambles. The controls still blink, though; apparently, it takes more than an overloading phaser to knock them out. Data is already at work on them, his fingers moving too fast to see. “The access is heavily encrypted,” he reports, never turning an eye from his work. “Apparently, the guards’ last move was to secure the computer against tampering.”

“Any signs of a self-destruct?” I ask while ch’Vlossen looks around quickly and heads outside again, satisfied that the building is secured for the now, apparently. Riker throws me a sharp glance. I shrug. “They did that a few times, thought they might try it again.”

“Data?” he asks.

“I do not detect any form of automated destruction protocol,” the android answers, fingers still dancing across glass black with soot. “However, I will continue to look out for them in case someone monitors this station and remote-starts a self-destruct.”

“Good thinking, Vey,” Riker grins at me. Apparently, I’ve lost the Miss somewhere, but somehow I don’t mind. 

“Any way to scan the complex on the inside?” ch’Vlossen asks, returning with Bellini and Chakotay, the commander slung across their shoulders but walking under his own power. He leans against the wall when the two security officers release him, blinks a few times and shakes his head to clear it. ch’Vlossen and Bellini are already going back, looking for Richards, but with our transponders, _Voyager’s_ chief of security receives an answer to his question. 

“No, Lieutenant Commander,” Data replies, “there are no sensors in this outpost.”

Riker grimaces. “Great. Into the unknown, then.”

“Commander,” Data adds, his fingers finally coming to rest. “I regret having to say that there is no way to take down the dampening field from here. The system has multiple redundancies; it would take a simultaneous attack on at least seven structures like these to break through.”

“And we don’t have the manpower for that,” Riker says tersely.

“Can you hack it?” I ask, thinking of Seven, and movies I’ve seen.

“‘Hack it’?” His head tilts again. “Ah – corrupt the system from the inside to deactivate the field? It would take me approximately two point seven six hours to accomplish that, judging by the sophistication of the programs I have so far encountered.”

“Do it,” Chakotay says instantly. “ch’Vlossen, what’s your status?”

“On our way back, sir, with Richards’ body.”

“Damn!” He hits the wall with his flat hand. “Commander, you and Bellini stay here and cover Commander Data while he tries to hack the system.”

“Aye, sir,” ch’Vlossen replies, coming through the blackened doorway. His face is sad and gentle and smeared with soot, and he slowly removes the hood that had covered his give-away white hair until now. 

We all bow our heads for a breath, then Chakotay straightens from where he’d knelt beside the body. “Riker, Vey – ready?”

“Aye, sir.”

“On, then.” 

It’s only a dampening field, not a shield, so there’s nothing impeding our progress – for some reason, I’d thought there would be. Chakotay scouts ahead, I follow hard on his heels, and Riker brings up the rear. It’s clear going, which is nice but also worrying, since there’s absolutely no covering. Then again, there’s no fire yet, so at least we’re making good headway. 

Still it takes us about fifteen minutes hard pressing to reach a point where we can see, by what little illumination this planet’s moon offers, the compound of buildings that seem to be the much-talked-about ‘home base’. Chakotay brings out a tricorder, but his face tells me eloquently how much use it is even before he snaps it shut. “Nothing.” He takes a quick breath. “Let’s keep to the trees over there; they seem to run almost to the edge of the complex.”

“Do you honestly think we can avoid being detected that way?” Riker asks with an ironic twist to his head. “I mean, they’re bound to have proximity sensors and the like, right?”

“I’ll set the tricorder to alert me if it picks anything up,” Chakotay agrees after a moment of thought, opening the device again and tapping in a few commands before he returns it to his pocket. 

“Still, keeping to the trees won’t hurt,” Riker concedes, and I roll my eyes. _Quit the posturing, boys, will you?_ Crouched behind them as I am, neither sees the look on my face, though. 

“Let’s go,” Chakotay says quietly.

* * *

Kathryn’s head swims. Everything swims, turns, wavers around dizzyingly. She bites the inside of her cheek to keep from vomiting, and the blooming pain wakes other pains that have lain dormant – hands, elbows, head. Abdomen. Nausea hits her again, and her heart stops. Their daughter. _I can’t feel her. I can’t – oh my God._ Biting something doesn’t help any longer. 

“Awake again, then, Admiral,” a sneering voice cuts through her retching.

“Tell me, Voyskunsky,” Kathryn says, straightening on will rather than strength, “what’s the point of all this?”

“Point? You mean you still don’t _know?_ ” The woman sounds almost hysterical. Kathryn can’t see her – the cell she’s in boasts a monitor, but it’s dark at the moment. Kathryn knows, though, that Voyskunsky’s able to see her well enough – her words just now have proven that. 

“Remind me. Say that neural stimulator has muddled my thoughts.” Kathryn grits her teeth. She remembers full well everything that had happened at their first meeting – the instant detection, the phasers directed at them, the purred ‘why, that’s even better’ of Voyskunsky. The pain that followed, and her own voice from a foreign throat, ordering _Voyager_ to make planetfall, an order received and acknowledged and probably carried out by now. _They’re coming to get us out of here._ Seven has warned them, hasn’t she? 

“You’re going to pay, Janeway. You’re going to pay for every life you took – you didn’t honestly think you’d get away with everything you did?” God, that woman must be mad. “That court-martial was a farce and you know it,” Voyskunsky goes on – _where have I heard that name?_ “Oh, everyone wanted _Voyager_ so badly, it was so easy to get into this project after I’d been recruited. They never knew I had my own agenda.” _Classical_ , part of Kathryn thinks. _Traitors betrayed by a traitor in their own ranks._ To what end, though? 

“Tell me about that agenda,” she ventures, and suddenly, her body is on fire. 

“Honestly, Janeway, I don’t want to know how stupid you think I am,” Kathryn dimly hears through the pain. “I went through command school, too, don’t you remember? Get them talking, oh, I know the drill.” Command. Red uniform, that voice, that face – yes! Dina. Dina Voyskunsky. The woman Cavit wanted to meet after the mission to the Badlands. 

_This is a vendetta._

_Keep her talking, Janeway._ “Well then, go on taunting if you want to,” Kathryn grates when the agony finally stops. “Or stay silent, see if I care.”

“Your Borg friend is coming around, Janeway.” _Good God, Seven._ “Pain is irrelevant, she said, but she blacked out, too, after a while. Shouldn’t have said what she said, and you shouldn’t have ordered the telepath to tell her to say it. Oh but of course I know, Janeway.” A grin is in those words. “Pays to have Letheans around, for all their pig-ignorance. Oh, he’s going to have so much fun with your little doctor.”

“What do you care if the _Enterprise_ gets away, Voyskunsky? From what I understand, you want _Voyager_.”

“You still don’t get it, do you? I want the _people_ , Janeway,” Voyskunsky flares. “I want everyone who survived while good men died.” She actually laughs. “And we’ll get the people that beamed to the _Enterprise_ , too, just wait. You don’t think Picard is going too far away, do you, Admiral?”

“I think he’s already making plans to smoke you out.”

“Let him come. Do you honestly think he’d risk killing Starfleet’s shining star and his pet Borg?”

“I am not a pet.” Seven’s voice is rough, but firm. 

Again, Voyskunsky laughs. “Oh, we’re all someone’s pet, pet, wait and see. Oh, here comes company. I think you should see this, Janeway. Your own pet, if I’m not very much mistaken.”

The screen flickers to life, and Kathryn suppresses a groan. Marie. Marie, in battle fatigues, and Chakotay with a wound to his head, and Riker. 

“Your rescue mission, Admiral. Pathetic, aren’t they?”

“Took out eighteen of yours,” Riker grates, “wouldn’t call that pathetic.”

“Oh, eighteen, he says.” Voyskunsky steps over to where a guard in black holds him, and pats his cheek. “Impressive. Still, you’re here, aren’t you? Appears there were a bit more than eighteen people around, hm?”

“Damnit, Dina, what do you want?” _First name base?_ Kathryn tries to remember what else she knows about Voyskunsky. _The_ Hood. _She served on the_ Hood _, that’s why Riker knows her._

“Oh, I’ve got all I want, Billy-Boy.” She turns away from him, barely throws Chakotay a glance, focuses on Marie. 

“Hello there. We haven’t been introduced. I’ve seen you on pictures, though. Voyskunsky’s the name, Mrs. Janeway, Dina Voyskunsky.”

“It’s Vey,” Marie states coldly, and for the first time, Voyskunsky looks puzzled. “Vey, not Janeway.” A right hand slowly comes up, a ringless finger prominently visible. Marie turns that hand, slowly, hypnotically, back and forth, back and forth. Voyskunsky’s eyes are riveted to it, and Kathryn almost laughs. “And that’s Miss Vey to you.” 

The hand strikes like a snake, goes straight for the throat. Chakotay and Riker are on their guards instantly, there are a few blasts of phaser fire, then Kathryn sinks into pain again. She moans, and Marie’s head comes up sharply, Kathryn can see that much through swimming eyes. She can even see her wife’s eyes narrow.

Voyskunsky is picked up and slammed into a console. “Stop it,” Marie hisses, clearly audible.

“Or what?” Voyskunsky wheezes. “You’ll kill me?”

“If necessary.” Amiable. For all that outburst of violence just now, Marie sounds like she’s discussing a recipe. 

It’s enough to put some doubt in Voyskunsky’s eyes. The fact that Chakotay and Riker are holding phasers by now probably helps, though. “Officers don’t kill.”

“Dina, Dina. You didn’t listen, did you. Miss Vey, I said. Not even Crewman. Much less officer.”

“What’s this, Billy-Boy?” Voyskunsky tries.

Riker shrugs. “Nothing to do with me. Chakotay, let’s get to work on the dampening field, shall we?”

“By all means.” Two commanders turn away. Kathryn could almost, almost forget the agony coursing through her. Concentrating on what her wife’s saying helps her focus on something outside that wall of red.

“See, dearest Dina?” Marie has her hand around Voyskunsky’s throat by now, quite a contrast to her friendly tones. “Only you and me. And I daresay I’m just about as mad as you are.”

“Your wife’s in pain!” It’s a whimper.

“And you’re the one who can stop it, Dina dear, so I suggest you do.” Marie is shockingly good at this. Nothing about her wavers – not her tone of voice, not her eyes, not her hand. Kathryn slumps in relief when the torture stops. For some reason, even though she’s managed to remain somewhat upright during the attack, its cessation brings her to her knees. She dimly hears Marie thanking Voyskunsky, quite politely.

“I shall keep this from now on, don’t you think?” she continues – probably the controller for the inducers. 

“Damn and blast,” Riker’s voice sounds suddenly. “Vey, you were right; this is rigged, too. I’ve just set off a self-destruct. We have fifteen minutes.”

“You really are a one-trick pony, aren’t you.” There’s a slap, and a grunt, and Kathryn tries to get upright again, to see what’s happening. “Tell you what – stop this and we’ll take you with us.”

“You’d do that anyway,” Voyskunsky spits, venom back in her voice. 

“These two might,” Marie replies equanimously, then her voice turns dangerous, “but I just might lose my interest in seeing you alive, you know.”

“You wouldn’t kill me.”

A phaser sounds, and a shrill shriek, and Kathryn is up on her knees and sees Voyskunsky clutching her left hand. “Dina, Dina, Dina,” so silky, so endlessly disappointed; God, but Marie truly seems cracked. “You see, contrary to those two-” she nods to where Riker and Chakotay are at work on a console again, “-I never took an oath to adhere to any principles. In fact, there’s only one vow I remember ever taking, and that is exactly the one that’s guiding me right now.” She leans forwards until their faces almost touch. “Shut. It. Off.” The phaser nuzzle kisses Voyskunsky’s chin.

“I can’t,” she sobs. “That’s why it’s on fifteen minutes – to give everyone time to get away. Once it’s activated, the computer shuts down all exterior input.”

“She’s right, Vey,” Riker nods, turning away from the console. “Chakotay, let’s go get the hostages and get out of here; you,” he picks up one of the guards roughly; stuns the other again for good measure, “show us the way.”

“Try and see whether you can get the field’s harmonics out of her, Marie,” Chakotay adds from the doorway, “it’ll be quickest all round if we can beam through the field.”

“Ah, so I get to play with you a little longer,” Marie purrs when the three men have left the room. “That’s nice.”

“I don’t care if I die here with you,” Voyskunsky replies. Kathryn rolls her eyes. _Again, classical._

“Oh, but you won’t,” Marie assures her with an easy laugh. “We can beam out anytime, you see, with those little thingies – what do you call them? Transporters? No, those are the things you beam with.” She snaps her fingers. “Transponders. That’s the bunny. And what with you so close to me-” Marie’s move is almost sensual, “-any transporter chief will lock on to you, too, once we tell them to.”

“Well, why don’t you, then?”

“Because, Dina dear, only the transponders of this away team have been matched to your dampening field. The ones of the hostages won’t work, and I _assure_ you,” the phaser caresses Voyskunsky’s jaw again, “if my wife doesn’t get beamed up, we’re going to have a long, long time discussing it.”

“Get away from me!” 

“Why should I?” Marie laughs again. “When you’re getting so important to me.”

Voyskunsky looks around wildly. “I don’t know the harmonics!”

“Oh, please.” The left hook comes out of nowhere. And the phaser is back where it was instantly, too. “No lying, Dina. I’m a social worker, you know. I can tell.”

Voyskunsky holds her jaw, eyes furious. “You’re a what?!”

“Oh, don’t bother, I’ve heard them all. The harmonics, Dina dear. That’s what I want to hear.”

“I’m not going to-” another flash of phaser fire, another shriek, and a spiral of smoke. 

“Do your ears burn yet, Dina? Oh, but I hate that smell when hair frizzles, don’t you? Next time, though – you don’t need two ears, do you? Oh hey, wait – I have a better idea. You don’t need ten fingers, right? These will last us _much_ longer.” Marie grabs Voyskunsky’s hand and brings it closer to eye-level, and to a delighted grin. “A ring, Dina dear? Just an affection, or are you married, too?”

Voyskunsky tries to draw up, at least, Kathryn has got to give her that. “That ring was given to me by-”

“ _You_ found someone to give you a ring?” _Don’t push her too far, Marie. That’s murder in her eyes, for all that she’s unarmed._ “Maybe you’re not all bad then. The harmonics, if you value love so much.”

The door to her cell slides open, and Kathryn’s head flies around. Chakotay’s finger on his lips precludes her from calling out his name, though, and Kathryn remembers the open comm. line just in time to nod. When she stands to go with him, though, she notices her pants are wet. Clinging, sickening wet. _Oh my…_

Her legs buckle, and he jumps forwards to catch her, ending up with one of her arms around his neck and one of his supporting what’s left of her waist. His chin nods towards the door, and Kathryn stumbles along, thoughts running jumbled circles.

“Seven,” Kathryn croaks when they’re three meters down the corridor and a bit of conscious thought is reasserting itself. “Althea.”

He throws her a quick, reassuring smile. “Riker’s found Seven; they’re both looking for Kalliste.”

“What’s the plan?” Easier to dwell on this than on the – _possible, Janeway, it’s not a certainty yet_ – reason for wetness on her legs.

“Get out here before everything blows up?”

“I thought the transponders…?” Kathryn gasps as a cramp shakes her, then relays Marie’s words. 

“Nice gambit,” Chakotay replies with the hint of a smile, “but not strictly true. Data’s working on hacking into the field generators, but I don’t know if he’ll succeed in time. Troi and B’Elanna are getting _Voyager_ ready for take-off, which should not take fifteen minutes, but they can’t do anything much for us as long as this field is in place. Next option is to find Althea and let her pick the harmonics out of Voyskunsky’s head, or get away far enough, fast enough to survive the explosion. Seeing as we don’t know how big it’s going to be, that last plan is not particularly high on my list.” 

“Good work, Cha-” again, silver pain shoots through her abdomen. 

“Pain inducer?” he asks, steadying her. “I thought Marie had the controller.” 

“It’s a… different sort of pain.” Kathryn knows the exact moment when he understands. 

“Spirits…” he swallows dryly. “It’ll be alright, Kathryn, don’t fear. We’ll get you out of here.”

“Commander!” Kathryn has never been more relieved to hear Riker’s voice. He and Seven are supporting the barely conscious healer, who seems in worse shape than Kathryn – blood running from one ear and both nostrils, eyes rolled back into her head. 

“She’s in no position to get anything out of a-” Chakotay begins, but stops when Kathryn’s hand clenches around his shoulder. 

“She can use external energy sources to get better.”

“Right,” Riker snaps, “that’s right!” He casts around instantly, then his eyes fall to his phaser. “Seven, can you support her for a moment?”

“Yes, Commander.” 

He nods, withdraws his arm and fiddles with the controls of his weapon.

“Do you think that’s a good-”

“Trust me, Chakotay, I know what I’m doing.” Riker shoots. Instantly, Althea’s eyes flutter, and she moans.

“Will!” If it hadn’t been for the need to steady her, Kathryn is sure Chakotay would be on Riker in an instant. 

“Commander, Riker served with Kalliste for at least half a decade,” she snaps, “stand down, will you.”

“Much longer than that, Admiral,” Althea whispers, then gestures to Riker to go on shooting. “Give me four more seconds, Will, that should do it.”

“Will do, Althea.”

And indeed, after a moment that, for all Kathryn knows it’s necessary, seems far too long, there’s color in Althea’s cheeks again, and strength enough in her back to stand unsupported. “Right.” She coughs and spits and grimaces. “Let’s go.”

“This way,” Chakotay says, shaking his head but swallowing the questions that Kathryn knows burn his tongue.

“How long?” Kathryn asks. “Seven, how long?”

“Eight minutes, forty-seven seconds have passed since Commander Riker mentioned the countdown was on fifteen minutes.”

“Thank goodness for internal chronometers,” Riker grins, “I could have sworn we had ten minutes left.”

“Which is precisely why your soufflés invariably fail, Commander.”

Riker crows a laugh. _Adrenaline._ Even Kathryn’s mouth twitches, until her thoughts return to… a hand touches her arm, and Kathryn looks up into grave, emerald-green eyes. 

“The minute we’re out of here, I’m taking care of you.” 

“Thanks, Althea,” she murmurs.

They round the corner and run into a platoon of guards concentrated on a locked door. Seven’s quickest to react – she grabs Chakotay’s phaser from his holster, taps it into wide-beam mode, and fills the corridor with unconscious bodies. 

“Impressive,” Riker grins at her. “Now where the hell did they come from? I thought we’d taken out everyone between here and the cells?”

“Just make sure there aren’t more of them,” Kathryn orders. “The door, Seven.” But it’s already sliding open, revealing Marie holding Voyskunsky, arm twisted and phaser to her head. 

“I _thought_ that was you I heard. Those transponders are really nifty, aren’t they? Hey, honey.” Her eyes, now that Kathryn can see them clearly (and now that Voyskunsky can’t), are nothing like as easy-going as her mode of address. Hanging onto control by a splitting thread, they say. _Help her,_ Kathryn’s thoughts reply. _And by all that’s holy, don’t let her notice the blood on your legs._

“Hey, Marie.” Just as lightly. “Let’s be having it, then.” She gestures towards Althea, who steps forwards with a grin just about as dangerous as Marie’s has been. 

“You – you are officers! You can’t do tha-” Voyskunsky’s words end in a squeal when Marie does something to her arm, though.

“That song is getting old, dearest Dina,” she tuts. “Try to relax, think happy thoughts. This will only take a moment.”

“She can’t do that! Admiral, you can’t order her, _please_ -”

Kathryn moves forward until her face is about an inch away from Voyskunsky’s. “Watch me,” she says with all the coldness she can muster. “Healer?”

“Yes, Admiral?”

“I want the field harmonics, and I want them now. Commander Troi?” It’s another gambit, but there’s a reply – even if Voyskunsky certainly can’t hear it.

“Ready to transport you the moment we have the harmonics.”

 _Yes._ “Very good. Kalliste – do it.”


	14. Chapter 14

The irony isn’t lost on me as I sit beside Kathryn’s sleeping form on the biobed. She’s sat here, waiting for me to wake up, a lot more often, and for all my self-proclaimed tranquility, I have simply no idea how she’s endured it. 

I even think of pacing. 

It had been Data who’d managed to reduce the dampening field to a strength penetrable by _Voyager’s_ sensors. Our transponders had helped, too, so I hadn’t been completely untruthful to Voyskunsky, right? Nor about the action our transporter chief would take – resulting in Voyskunsky sitting in the brig right now, and me not giving a fig whether she believes me or not. I have no idea whether Althea had really invaded Voyskunsky’s mind, because the transporters had engaged practically a fraction of a second after Kathryn had commanded her to. I don’t really have a thought to spare about the legal ramifications, though.

Althea had ordered an emergency medical transport for Kathryn and her immediately after we all had rematerialized, and through the shaking of _Voyager_ taking off from the planet I’d made my way up to deck five the long way around, sick with worry. 

The Doctor and Althea have both assured me, several times by now, that everything is alright with Kathryn and our daughter, that the fact that Kathryn hadn’t sensed her had been due to the stress and pain of those neural stimulators Voyskunsky has made her wear, that the blood and fluid hadn’t been her waters breaking, that everything was _alright,_ Marie, _trust us, will you?_ I’ve even heard my daughter’s heartbeat, strong and reassuring, but I’ll believe Kathryn’s okay if and when her eyes open again. 

So I wait, because heavens help me I will not wake my wife when she’s resting, nor allow any doctor to do so. There’s nothing to do except rendezvous with the _Enterprise_ and get started on the paperwork, anyway, is there. 

I wait, and battle my own tiredness, courtesy of an adrenaline rush leaving me high and dry.

I wait, and take care to breathe calmly, and relax my muscles every now and then. 

I wait, and defy every glance the Doctor and Althea send my way.

I wait, and can’t bring my thoughts to settle on deciding what I’ll do when Kathryn wakes up. 

I wait, and then I see her eyelids flutter and rise, and a lot of things evaporate – my tiredness, conscious thought, the need to breathe…

I kiss her, hurling myself into our connection with every bit of recklessness I ever was accused of. And Kathryn… Kathryn stops, her concentration turning to our daughter, and stares, and laughs, and _flings_ her arms around me, and goes on laughing – well, metaphorically, you see. In that connection of ours. 

We’re alright. She _knows_ our daughter is, too, and I know it through her, and sweet here-and-now, we’re alright…

Conscious thought catches up with me after a while, shows me my wife in my arms (which I relax a little because they’re far too tight), tears on my face (which I completely ignore), two smiling doctors on the other side of the biobed (them, too), and a very kissable face in front of me (to which I give in without the least bit of a fight). 

And Kathryn?

I don’t know if she’s aware of our audience, but she doesn’t hesitate a bit, laughing quietly and kissing me back and catching my face in her small hands (they’re cold once more, God, but they always are), and crying and kissing me again. From the corners of my eyes, I can see Althea pulling the Doctor away, and for all the huge, irreverent grin on her face, I bless her with all my heart. 

My acoustic nerve finally decides to leave off the white noise and get back to work again, and I realize I’m saying Kathryn’s name, over and over like a mantra. It makes me falter, and she notices, and notices the reason, and laughs again (oh, but how I love her laugh), pulling me close again, or as close as can be with our daughter between us. 

“I love you, Marie,” she murmurs in my ear, and I shudder and tighten my arms and start crying again, goddamnit. 

Talk about catharsis. 

The ground, as it were, feels firmer when we resurface, and part of me almost dismisses it as expectable, while the larger part of me simply marvels at how easy, indeed, some things can be. Well. Relatively speaking, right? I do feel quite non compos mentis, laughing and crying and clinging to my wife, but I’m nowhere near how I felt when I had my hands on that… _woman_ down there, and _that_ had been madness. Not this.

As if she senses where my thoughts are going (which she probably is, considering), I can hear Kathryn’s words in my ear again. “You almost had me scared down there, Marie.”

“Almost?” I pull back to look at her and try to make a joke of it. “That’s it for my acting career, then, huh?”

“You did all that on purpose?” she asks, head tilted, eyebrow cocked, clearly not buying it.

I sigh. Whom can I tell, if not her? “I’d say it was an idea that went out of hand. A little.”

“I’d second that,” Kathryn replies dryly. “Though acting might be a back-up career plan one day.” She nuzzles her head back against my shoulder, fingers fiddling with the collar of my incredibly filthy shirt.

I catch them. “I’ve got something of yours I wanted to return,” I say, my other hand sneaking to my pocket. 

Her eyes grow black – I’ve never seen this before, but it’s true: Her pupils dilate so rapidly that there’s only the slightest halo of blue left around them. And still that blackness pales to the look of loss and grief that’s in them. “She took your ring off me, Marie. When she-”

“Hush, love.” I have to stop this before it hurts her too badly. “I know. She tried to taunt me with it, the-” I swallow a few epithets. I’m in the presence of an admiral, after all. One who’s pregnant, what’s more. “-woman,” is the word I settle for, again. “I have them, right here. Both of them.” 

“Marie…” I silence her, with a kiss. It’s more eloquent than words, at least for us, here, now. And I never break away to slip the ring onto her finger, either, even if she has to help a little to help me find the right one. It gets us both laughing. Then she reciprocates, and we kiss again, and our daughter celebrates the occasion with a well-aimed kick, and we’re alright, right here, right now, as much as can be.


	15. Chapter 15

“Will you tell me something?”

“Hmmm?” Marie looks up from where she lies on the sofa, PADD in hand. 

“There is something I wanted to ask you, but…” Kathryn breaks away, not sure how to go on. Marie’s eyes grow alarmed immediately, and that’s nowhere near what Kathryn wants, so she moves over and stretches out next to her wife. “I really don’t think it’s a question to be frightened of, but I just don’t know how to ask it.” 

Serious snuggling and a loosening of shoulders ensues. Then, “Tell you what,” Marie kisses the top of her head, “you ask, and I answer, and then I get to ask something in return, which you have to answer.”

“Deal,” Kathryn says instantly. Well. Nothing for it, then. “Why don’t you join Starfleet, Marie?”

“Huh?” Startled. A laugh, a moment later. “ _That’s_ what’s got you so tense?” Marie sits up, dislodging Kathryn. She waits until Kathryn’s comfortable again – it has both of them wind up cross-legged, which makes Kathryn laugh when she notices. Marie, too, when Kathryn points it out with a glance. Then Marie grows serious again. “I’d thought you’d know,” she says quietly. A smirk spreads on her face, suddenly. “Although it might be quite therapeutic, you know?”

“This is about trusting and relying, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” Marie shrugs. “I’d go with you to the ends of the universe, but I don’t think I’d even follow _your_ every order. How in hell would I follow someone else’s just because they happen to have a pip more than I?”

Her delivery is bone-dry, and yet Kathryn can sense the seriousness behind it. “Which is exactly why you’d make a good officer,” she insists. “They’re not supposed to be mindless automatons who blindly do what they’re told, you know.”

“But I can’t beat the snot out of people who kidnap you if I join,” Marie says lightly. 

“You could be closer to me, though, serving on the same ship.” Kathryn smirks. “And beating the snot out of people is ch’Vlossen’s job, anyway.”

“You think I should apologize to him?”

Time for a stern look. “Don’t change the subject, love.” 

Marie sighs, shifts, and looks at crossed ankles – enviable, that. “I’ve thought about it, you know. There’s a special curriculum for counselors who want to join, even.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Marie smiles lopsidedly. “Social workers are needed anywhere – it’s what I’m here for, after all.”

“No it isn’t.” That old joke – Kathryn chuckles, and swats at Marie, even though she knows her wife is out of reach. But there’s no cushion to throw, either.

Again, Marie quickly grows serious. “I’d have to take a reinstatement course and exam to legally call myself a counselor, first, then I could enroll in Starfleet Medical Academy and come out a lieutenant junior grade four semesters later. Another six months on a starship or space station for hands-on experience, and I’d be eligible for full lieutenant, if I perform up to standard.”

Kathryn is stunned. About how quickly a postgraduate can rise, certainly, but – the fact that Marie knows all this… “You have thought about this.”

“Talked with Commander Troi, to be exact.”

“And she’d know all about that, of course,” Kathryn says, still a bit dazed. “Seeing as she probably approved of the curricular changes, as head of the department.”

“She did,” Marie gives her that little half-smile again. “And she said that a lot of the courses can be taken through distance learning – oh, they’re not compromising quality,” she raises her eyebrows at Kathryn’s frown. “They do need to fill the ranks, but Deanna was very, very definite about the standards expected. And I agree with her methods, you know – let people learn whichever way works best for them, then test if their knowledge meets your expectations. There’s a few things you have to be present for, of course, but what with holodecks and subspace communication, people can even take some of the practical exams while abroad, special allowance pending.”

“Impressive,” Kathryn manages, and is rewarded with a frankly brilliant smile. “I think I shall have to look into that further before we reach Bolarus – I’m supposed to be recruiting, you know, and those could be quite the arguments for some people. Does take a lot of bandwidth, though, a practical holo-exam, doesn’t it?”

Marie shrugs again. “Probably. I wouldn’t know. But if you want the best, you have to offer the best. I think Harren took as many correspondence courses as he got away with, for example. Barclay, too. Isn’t always the best solution, but then that’s what Academy counselors are for.”

“So do you want to go that way?”

Down to the ankles those brown eyes go. “All that… convenience doesn’t change the basic problem, does it. Can I follow orders? Could a superior officer trust in me to fulfill them? Could I trust in him or her to give the right ones?”

“Do you have to know beforehand?” _That_ gets Kathryn Marie’s full, open-mouthed attention. Kathryn smiles. “That’s it, isn’t it? So much easier to cast off the lines if you know what you’re sailing into before you leave harbor. Well, sometimes it takes _doing_ things to figure them out, Marie.”

“Thanks, Captain Counselor.” But again, even though her tone is ironic, Marie’s eyes are thoughtful. 

Kathryn stretches carefully, fingers thrumming on her frankly exorbitantly swollen belly. “Not a captain anymore, Crewman. Won’t go far if you’re having trouble remembering _that_ , you know.”

“But ‘Admiral Counselor’ just doesn’t roll off the tongue, does it,” Marie grins. “Besides, I still like Captain Coffee Bean, or Captain Kathryn. It fits so well, I mean, the alliteration alone – the only one for your present rank I’ve come up with so far is Admiral Awesome, and I think…” she waits for Kathryn’s laughter to subside, “for all your natural modesty, that that would go to your head too much.”

“Oh you do, do you? Well, thanks a lot, Crewman Cocky.”

“I liked Irreverent Marie better,” Marie huffs, then puts on her best, yes, cocky grin. “But I’ll always be that, I suppose.”

“And it’s good to have you back,” Kathryn can’t help but saying. 

It stops Marie’s laughter, but at least it doesn’t throw her off course anymore. “I am, I guess. Well. Almost, anyway.” 

Almost. Not quite. Oh, there’s considerable wobbliness still, some days more than others. There are nightmares, and gutted looks, and queasy smiles. But they’re getting less, and further apart. And there’s child care duty, and quiet evenings, and dinner dates, and… and ever since that day in Jean-Luc’s quarters, Kathryn doesn’t feel she’s going through this pregnancy alone any longer. 

“You’re doing fine, Marie.” Kathryn watches her wife move across to her, and stretches out her arm, offering nearness that is immediately accepted. “We’re doing fine. And I don’t want to press-gang you into Starfleet, for all that I enlisted you three months ago. I just wanted to know, you know.”

“That’s quite alright,” Marie says breezily. “I even find I can live with your unilateral decision to have my eyes fixed, Admiral.”

“Good grief, Marie – I hadn’t even thought about that anymore, I’m sorry. I-”

“It’s alright, love.” A kiss reinforces the words. “Honestly. It’s nice to wake up to a clear sight of you, not a blurry one.” Another, longer one reassures Kathryn how nice, exactly. “As to Starfleet… I’ll think about it further. The coursework doesn’t start until summer, anyway. They’ve timed it so that its end coincides with the start of SFMA’s summer semester, even.”

“Considerate,” Kathryn smiles.

“Do you really want me to join an organization that…” Marie doesn’t go on, but she doesn’t need to, does she.

“Spawned a conspiracy to kidnap people and a ship? Gave rise to people like Voyskunsky, and Beckett, and Kojima?” And a number more, all in jail by now? “That’s exactly why, you know. We can’t just leave the field for them. We need good people, and you are.”

“Sweet serenade, Kathryn – thank you.” 

“You’re very welcome, Marie.” And more than that. Kathryn kisses Marie’s cheek. “You’ve still got that question, you know.”

“You certain?”

“Well, fair’s fair.”

“Promise to think about it before you answer?”

“Marie, why on Earth would I-”

“Why do you love me?” 

It hangs there, garnished with the appeal to ‘think before you answer’. _Good grief._ “I…” Kathryn sits up straighter – she’s got to meet Marie’s eyes for this. “Marie, you…” But if Marie knew, she wouldn’t have asked, right?

As if she’d read that thought, Marie says, “I know _that_ you love me. Even if Althea had never…” she takes a deep breath. “And even though, just now, you said… but that was a general description, right? But… when you said that about Chakotay – about him not having been pushy, I thought that… I thought maybe… maybe you just… followed my lead, because I pushed you. So I… started to wonder, you know.” Naked, and bare, and vulnerable. Indomitable Marie. 

“Promise to believe me?”

That quip wins a tight little smile. “Fair’s fair,” Marie whispers. 

“Yes, you’re pushy,” Kathryn says, cupping Marie’s cheek to peer into her eyes more closely. “But so am I. And sometimes you’ve got to be, to move things forwards, right? As long as you’re responsible about it, pushy isn’t a bad thing, I think. And besides - the admiral was right,” and there’s no question at all which admiral is meant right now, Kathryn can see that. “Kissing me _was_ the best move you ever made, pushy or not.” Marie joins her smile after a moment, and that’s reassuring. Kathryn goes on, “You’re brave. Not in that you rush in where angels fear to thread, as the poets say – although you do that, too, sometimes…” again, Kathryn’s smile is returned, “but in that you… you brave things. Meet them with all you’ve got, even if you’re not sure you’ve got it.”

“But-”

“Ah – I said to believe me.” Kathryn kisses Marie quickly, because those stubbornly open lips are just too irresistible. “The word ‘but’ doesn’t come into it.” Marie rolls her eyes, but keeps her silence, and gets another kiss for it. “I love your mind, the way you think about things. So quick, and so quick to laugh about things. I love how you take things so lightly, and so seriously, and how you differentiate between the two so diligently.” A third kiss – definitely irresistible. “I love your singing – I love how you always, always have a song in your mind. And I love how you taste, and your strength, and oh, so many things about your body that it would take us into next week if I were to list all of them.”

“You do?” 

Oh, the innocent eyes. Kathryn meets them with what Marie’s called her ‘come-hither’ look. “Asking me to prove it?”

She knows, by now, that there are some challenges Marie will never let pass, but… _good grief. That smile of hers will be the death of me one day._ “I even promise to believe you, Kathryn.”


	16. Chapter 16

I could spend ages here, just watching our daughter sleep. Kathryn’s asleep, too, but I’m too full of emotion to lie down and close my eyes. _I don’t want to miss a thing,_ I’d sung to Kathryn once upon a universe, and it still holds true. I don’t. Of this? Not a blessed second.

This day has changed me. I’m a mother, to start with. Courtesy of Althea’s gift, my wordless murmur of love had been the first thing my daughter had known in this world – the sheer immensity of _that_ idea threatens to knock my feet from under me even now, which is why I’m glad I’m sitting down, to tell the truth. It has also been another chapter of the story of How Marie Learns to Rely on Other People – but I’m getting ahead of things, aren’t I.

It had started two days ago, with the _Tian An Men_ swinging in next to _Voyager_ , into parallel orbit around Bolarus. Even before that, Kathryn had lamented about how May 18th was getting closer, and we wouldn’t be on Earth, and hadn’t got the whole Delta Quadrant crew aboard. And I’d known that, more deeply than even that, she’d been aching for her mother to be with her for the birth. And then the captain of the _Tian An Men_ had contacted the bridge, from what Kathryn’s told me, asking to prepare for transport of… 

Heavens help me, but I’m tearing up again. 

Gretchen and Phoebe Janeway. 

Thirty-eight of _Voyager’s_ old crew: as many as had managed to get leave from their respective posts or jobs, for this first anniversary of The Return from the Delta Quadrant. Including the _Enterprise_ Three. 

And… and Leelee. My Leelee.

And last but oh, never ever least, Ambassador Lwaxana Troi, puller of strings and pest extraordinaire by all accounts. It had been she who’d badgered Nechayev into granting her the use of the _Tian An Men_ , and who’d spread the word and organized transport for everyone. I bet Tom’s pools had swelled to bursting that day. Granted, things are crowded, but no one, _no_ one had taken up the offer of the Bolian government of housing people off _Voyager_.

And then, yesterday morning during a shared breakfast, Althea had looked up from where she’d been examining Kathryn, the look in her eyes confirming what all guests had been half-hoping, half-dreading. 

It had been time. It hadn’t been starting, oh no. Actually, we had been smack in the middle of it for quite a while. Deanna and Lwaxana had quickly excused themselves – even though a birth is, to Betazoids, a pretty public affair for all intents and purposes, they hadn’t wanted to intrude, and we’d been quite the group in any case – Gretchen and Phoebe, of course, Seven and Chakotay, and Ellie and me. 

It had taken eighteen and a half hours, all told. And over the course of them, I’ve… changed. Oh I’d known, intellectually, how these things happened. I’d had a midwife as a friend, I’d made plans with my wife, I’d talked with Althea and the Doctor, I’d read up on a lot of things. And I am, after all, Marie who Has It Together, Pillar of Strength, and I’d sworn to be that, during the birth. And yes, I had known, intellectually, that I am only mortal, and have only so much energy, and so many hands. But walking that line has never been easy for me, and certainly not when there’d been so much at stake. Take the simple act of letting someone else support Kathryn during the long, long hours of walking our daughter into the birth channel. Or Chakotay’s insistence that I eat. Or Leelee telling me I was asleep on my feet, and wouldn’t I for heaven’s sake go and take a nap? 

Things had taken so incredibly long, and despite all my protests, I _had_ needed a rest after – oh, I don’t even know how long it had been. Kathryn, aware of things for once when Leelee and I had started to argue, had just _looked_ at me, and then she’d let her eyes rove, eloquently as always, along the group of people surrounding her, until I had gotten the message and had conceded that I was, maybe, a little exhausted. A time and a place. Rely on others. So I had; for almost two hours of almost sleep, my best friend at my side with the promise to alert me if anything important happened.

After that – God, but it had been overwhelming to be with Kathryn through the stages of labor. See her give birth, witness her ‘move mountains with her own self’, as I’ve heard it called – awe is too small a word to express what I feel. At times she’d had become so centered within herself that she’d been oblivious to anything in the outside world, including what I might say to her. And yet even when it had seemed that her universe contained nothing but pain, she’d always, always heeded me whenever I, prompted by Althea, told her what she needed to do next – walk, drink, breathe, push. It had been… awe-inducing, and heady, and not a little frightening, to have her hand me that much responsibility so readily, and yet… I’d realized the import of that on several levels, and that had changed me, too.

And then – heavens help me. You see, all through the last months of pregnancy, I’d sensed our daughter from time to time, through Kathryn’s link with her – another gift of Althea’s, that. And God, how I’d cherished these glimpses, the connection. But during the hours of labor, Kathryn had withdrawn a little, arguing that her pain and strife wouldn’t be comfortable for our daughter to feel, any more than she already did; and so it had fallen to me to cradle that no-longer-so fuzzy mind in love, to reassure our daughter that, uncomfortable and frightening as this might feel now, the process was not only necessary, but had something incredibly wonderful beckoning at the end of it. 

All thoughts about _anything_ had faded away from me, that moment when I’d held our daughter’s head as it had come free. As I said, the thought that my touch had been the first thing… overpowering, plain and simple. Kathryn had welcomed her, too, with a burst of tender, fierce love, then the next contraction had called her away again, to the task of delivering our daughter fully from her habitat of the previous nine months. 

Inconceivably shortly after that, I’d held our daughter in my arms. Messy, and bewildered, and healthily yelling, her shock at the transition had been palpable even without a sixth sense, and I’d been quick to wrap her in soft blankets and soft reassurance, quick to put her on Kathryn’s chest. The next thing, the last thing I clearly remember, had been the three of us, finally come together in a little halo of contentedness, fulfilled when our daughter had begun to nurse for the first time – and what a peculiar sensation _that_ had been, through all the connections between us three. 

As I said – this day has changed me.

It has also changed, strengthened, deepened beyond measure my friendship with the people present. It had hit me while I’d sat on the couch, watching my wife endlessly pace the room, various people at her side. I’d felt then, for all that I’d been apart, so included, so much a part – we all had been a part of this. A major shift, it had been, as if the universe had come into different focus in that moment.

My mother and sister-in-law, closer now than my own family ever was, simply by virtue of sharing this with me, with us. 

Chakotay, patient and stalwart, bringing his laughter and wonder; and Seven, intensely curious, endlessly endearingly shy. 

Althea, keeping up an equally endless stream of reassuring chatter, a small but strong figure underneath Kathryn’s left shoulder while I’d been on the right – I’d sensed how her smaller height somehow was nicer, easier for Kathryn at times, and how, at others, she liked Seven’s or Chakotay’s tallness better. Our rote had subtly changed, after that. Strange how I remember such a detail now, but there you have it. 

And finally, my Leelee – I’d known beforehand that being present at a birth wasn’t exactly a dream of hers, and she’d told Kathryn, too, when things started, that she’d be no good at seeing pain or gruesomeness. And then she’d gone on saying that she’d stay for my sake, and how she’d come through on that.

I might be on a hormonal high, or slightly deluded from lack of sleep, but I love all of them. And, dear sister wolf, I wouldn’t hesitate at all, to let myself fall backwards into these people’s arms. 

This is my family. This is real. This is my daughter. And next door, my wife, sleeping.

My life. 

This. Is. Real. 

Thank you, life – thank you. 

“Oh, you’re very welcome,” an unfamiliar voice drawls. There’s a flash of light, and what appears to be a human male of middle age sitting in the armchair we’ve moved here. 

I tilt my head. “You’re Q, aren’t you?”

“Why, that was barely a second of thought,” he says, with a raised eyebrow. “Almost impressive.”

It’s joined by his other one when I walk over to him, hand outstretched. “Marie Janeway. Pleased to meet you.”

“Oooh, so you’ve decided to drop your name? How symbolic.” He looks at my hand in a puzzled way, then his eyebrows – they are expressive, aren’t they – come up again, this time with realization. “Ah yes.” He starts to reach out, stops himself, rises to his feet – and shrugs at my yelp when he presses too hard. “Picard never complained. Then again, when he realized it’d been my hand he was shaking… he didn’t feel exactly as amicable as you do.” 

“Well…” I look at the floor, then up at him again. “I won’t deny there have been times when I’d have been less cordial, but what with all this,” my hand indicates the room and everything in and beyond it, “I guess I’m feeling magnanimous.”

He bleats a laugh, dropping back into the chair and wagging a finger at me. “You humans. Magnanimous… how magna could your anima possibly be, restricted little mortal that you are?” 

I hold my ground. Kathryn’s told me of his arrogance, after all. “A soul, I’d say, is just as great as the notions it can embrace.” 

“Well said,” he calls out, then, more quietly when I glare at him, “well said. You know your ancient languages, don’t you? Not that what you call Standard is any more sophisticated, but-” he sighs and raises his arms, “-since communicating with me fully would blow your underdeveloped mind, we’ll just have to stick with it.”

I frown a little. His acerbic words are bringing me down from my flying high, and I don’t like it. “Is there a purpose to your visit, Q?”

“Purpose, purpose – do I _need_ a purpose to look in on my favorite admiral and her family?”

“I take it this is just a social call then?” Kathryn says from the doorway, belting her robe, and all my magnanimity is flying through the bulkheads for some reason.

“Kathy!” He gets up and tries to embrace her. She ducks beneath one arm of his and positions herself next to me, between our daughter and this omnipotent being. For what’s it worth, I suppose. He turns, looking like he’s heard the term ‘disappointed’ but has no idea how to apply it to his face. “Honestly. You don’t think I’m going to hurt your precious little offspring, do you? After making you the godmother of mine?”

“Let’s just say I’m finding it very hard to believe that you’re here to congratulate us on the birth of our daughter,” Kathryn tells him in no uncertain tones.

“Your distrust hurts me, Kathy, as ever.” He touches his heart – no, he _crosses_ it. “How can I persuade you that my intentions are good? Tell me and I’ll do it – as long as it’s not an order to leave,” he adds quickly, seeing Kathryn open her mouth imperiously. 

“Suppose he’s playing nice,” I tell her, head cocked, but not looking away from him. “I mean, he _has_ brought the two of us together, three times, hasn’t he?”

“Like a fairy godmother, you mean?” Kathryn radiates irony, mirroring my posture, even pursing her lips. 

“Something like that.”

“Think he’s trying to take credit?”

“Let him,” I shrug. “It’s due, I think.”

“Oh, bravo, bravo!” Q starts to clap. “What a sweet performance. Such sardonic wit.” He stops and sits up straight, face intense. “You did manage to hit on a point, though.” Leans back again, crossing his arms lazily behind his head, moving them right through the headrest, for all that he’s leaning against it. “You agree that without me, you wouldn’t be here right now?”

“Readily,” I answer. Kathryn shoots a look of surprise at me, and I spread my arms a little. It’s true, isn’t it? 

“So you might as well thank me, right?”

“Of course.”

He leans forwards, intent again. “And what about you, Kathy – feeling grateful?”

I can see a muscle twitch in Kathryn’s chin and fight to stay silent. Whereas she, it seems, fights to find words, looking at me, behind her at the crib, at me again, then at the being in our armchair. “I guess I am.”

“For what, exactly?”

“Now listen-” I freeze when Q holds up his finger. Literally. Holy pause button. Kathryn doesn’t notice, or maybe she thinks I’m complying out of free will.

“Tell me, Kathy – have you figured it out yet?” he croons.

“That least-used ability of mine?” she asks back, and he nods, all avarice. “Well, I…” a lot of emotions flicker across her face – and she makes no effort to hide them, either, and I guess that’s an answer, right there. There’s reluctance, and trepidation, there’s confidence and insecurity, and decisiveness bordering on stubborn. And, finally, with an entrance that is nothing short of epic, the way it steals over her features and leaves them glowing – love, again in that curious mixture of gentleness and fervency. “I daresay you mean the resolve not to sacrifice my deepest personal concerns on the altar of duty.” Her shoulders straighten. 

“Why the complicated wording, Kathy? Why not simply say you’re finally allowing yourself to love?”

“I have loved before, Q,” she shoots back, all of the mentioned emotion gone from her face. 

“Ah, but have you _allowed_ yourself that feeling?”

“I couldn’t act on it, Q, you know full well that-” she breaks away when he cocks his head. I hate that I can’t say anything – I _know_ where he’s going, after all. Then again, this is Kathryn’s task, has been from the beginning, right? She laughs, suddenly, one huff of air, and I know she’s halfway there. “I was about to say that, being stranded as we’d been, I couldn’t possibly have entered a relationship, but that’s not true, isn’t it.” She looks at me, lips pursed in that sweet wry smile of hers, and, suddenly realizing I can, I return it with interest. “You’re right, Q,” she says with a little sigh, “I didn’t allow myself. I didn’t allow myself a relationship, and I didn’t even allow myself most of the emotions that went with it. I never really let Marc in. I did keep Chakotay at arm’s length, and everyone else possibly farther.”

 _If he’d ever been just a little more… pushy, he could have had that trust years ago_ , the thought echoes in my mind. No – in the room. Kathryn’s face falls, telling me she’s heard the words, in her own voice, in my thoughts or wherever Q has managed to make them audible.

Then her eyes come up to mine again, full of smiling confidence. “Well. That was then, and this is now. And right now, I love, and I am happy, and… well, yes, grateful.” She turns to the omnipotent being in the armchair. “So, if that’s what it takes to get you to leave – thank you, Q.”

“Ah, not quite, my dearest Kathy,” he lifts finger and eyebrow in comical choreography. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“I don’t see what-”

“I think he wants to meet our daughter, love,” I stage-whisper to her. And wherever the thought has come from, it seems spot-on – Q nods beamingly at me. 

“I’m warning you,” Kathryn growls when I pick our daughter up and walk over to him. “Any funny turns and I’ll have your _hide_ , immortal or not.”

“Part lioness, eh,” Q nods to me. “I daresay you have a point. And yet I can understand the impulse, for all that my son is impervious to harm.” His hands are completely proficient around our daughter’s head and limbs, which relieves a tiny little bit of my tension. “Small, isn’t she?” he says, looking at her a little disappointed. “Then again,” with a look at Kathryn, “considering… ah well.” And back at our daughter again, who – I notice, tension rising again – is awake. “Well met, little mortal,” he tells her.

“I sincerely hope so,” I breathe. 

“Oh, Marie, Marie,” he hums, “while I certainly still fail to see the significance of infanthood, I daresay her little mind can only profit from meeting me at this early a stage.”

“Don’t you dare mess with her mind, Q.” 

“You’d rather have me mess with her body?” he says, eyebrow raised, returning the infant, very wisely, to my arms. 

“No!” Kathryn almost shouts. “I just want you to leave well enough alone.”

“And here I was going to offer you three wishes, in keeping with fairy godparent tradition,” he sighs. “Well, I guess I-”

“Three wishes.” I can’t help but smirk. In a nice way, though. It’s a nice offer, after all.

“Of course,” he says breezily. “I won’t have it be said I weren’t… magnanimous.” He winks at me.

“Three wishes,” Kathryn repeats, a tad stonier than my voice has been.

“Well, if you prefer me to make my own choices…” he spreads his arms.

“I don’t,” I say instantly, only to realize I’ve got an echo at my side. “But please, let us think about it for a minute, will you?”

“Magnanimous, remember,” he shrugs; “take two.”

“Marie, you can’t be-” Kathryn begins, but I interrupt her

“Why not? However terrifying this has played out at times, his intention for you has been a nice one, hasn’t it?” A dark-haired head nods avidly. “So I don’t think he’s going to split hairs or twist words on us now.” A dark-haired head shakes, offended. “And anyway, there are some things even he can’t tamper with.” 

A dark-haired head begins to nod, then stops sharply. “Well, I beg to differ.” He sniffs. “But you’re quite right, you know.” His eyes are intent, suddenly, and pretty well honest, I think. “Kathy, you were – well. I hesitate to tell, but there you have it; credit where it’s due – you were quite right when you lectured me about love, and raising someone, and responsibility. And then what did you do but help me get there? I thought it would be only fair to reciprocate, you see? And hearing you’re happy has… oh, I know it sounds ridiculous, but…” he tilts his head imploringly, “bear with me – don’t you see I want to give you something?”

A corner of my mouth comes up. “That’s friendship for you,” I inform him. “Being happy that a friend is happy, and wanting to celebrate that.”

“Thanks, _Smarty_ – you know, I might never know just exactly what she sees in- ah, never mind.” He turns to Kathryn again. “So maybe this _is_ friendship, eh, Kathy dear?”

“May all the saints preserve us,” she murmurs, but there’s a smile on her lips. 

“Oh, you’ll never get anywhere, waiting for _their_ help,” he scoffs. “So anyway, what’s your choices? Health, wealth and happiness?”

“Close, but not quite,” I say when Kathryn opens her mouth. I even manage to meet her glare evenly, hopefully reassuringly, before I turn to Q again. “A long life, sound in mind and body.”

“That’s number one.” He snaps his finger with a gleeful smile. “Done.”

“What?” Kathryn turns from him to me and back again. “Marie, I-” 

I hush her with a kiss. _Trust me, love._ “Actually,” I tell Q, “that’s it.”

“That’s it?” He’s startled. 

“Yeah,” I press on while I’m ahead, “I daresay she’ll get the rest from the both of us. You know, self-confidence, happiness, curiosity, those things.”

“Ah yes. I remember Kathy going on about this. Still, you’re quite certain of that, are you,” he smirks. “Well, seeing as you’re so humble and moderate…” His eyebrows raise again, then his face settles in a smile that’s just the teensiest bit worrying. “Oh yes. You’ll like that.” And with another snap of his fingers, he’s gone. 

“What the-” Kathryn starts again, and again, I hush her, but not with a kiss this time. Oh no. This time, apparently, the look on my face when I turn to her sufficiently renders her silent. Equally wordlessly, I deposit our daughter in her crib, take Kathryn’s hand, and pull her towards the bathroom. 

“I’ll be…” she breathes when she looks at her reflection, feeling as stunned as I do, I have no doubt. 

“A decade, I think,” I say quite detachedly, kissing a chin that feels just that little bit more… youthful under my lips. 

“But he…” she leans forwards, back, turns to me. “But you…” Looks into the mirror again. “But…”

“Well, maybe he extended that wish to all three of us, instead of giving three wishes to one of us?” I venture, and suddenly I _know_ I’m right, don’t ask me how. I can see it on her face, too. 

“But… how will I _explain?_ ” she suddenly bursts out, and I can’t help laughing at how completely overwhelmed she is. Well – maybe I am, too, in a different way.

“We’ll just say motherhood agrees with you, love,” I croon, when I can, then chuckle kisses onto her throat until she shivers.


	17. Postscript

The shuttle bay is packed. Chell and Ellie and a host of volunteers have decked it out splendidly, with mementos of apparently every world in two quadrants. There’s even a monitor, up on one wall, showing a diffuse, but live feed of the Federation’s Delta Quadrant ambassador. Heavens help me, but there’s a queue in front of it. 

There have been speeches. There have been toasts. There has been Chateau Picard, and Amarone, and champagne. There has been food, and mingling. There has been, and is, a feeling of acute anticipation. Because there has been an absence. 

But of course a mother with a six-day-old infant needs to go easy on herself. Needs time to go through the tons of messages and gifts, too. I’ve been deliberately vague with my excuses, and I guess enough people have at least a suspicion of what’s about to happen. 

There is a delighted titter when I step up to the free space that has opened in front of the buffet, now that everyone has had their fill.

There is a tinkle when I tap my glass with my ring. 

There is appreciative laughter.

“Friends,” says I, smiling, then grinning at Chakotay to make sure he gets it. There is more laughter. “When the _Tian An Men_ turned up a week ago, I was blown away. Plain and simple. I’ve been a member of _Voyager’s_ crew only for a short time, and that really brought home how close this family is. I want to thank you all for coming, and, on behalf of my wife and our daughter, for your gifts and good wishes.”

“Hear, hear!” Tom, ever ready for a toast. 

“Hold it, Mister Paris, I’m not finished yet.” I grin, pointing at him around my glass of wine. “I also want to thank you for your patience and indulgence, as far as the notable absence of tonight’s guests of honor is concerned. You see, there’s a time and place for everything, and we figured… oh, what the h… heck.” I’m a mother now. I can’t go swearing in public, can I? I press my combadge, initiating the pre-programmed command. “Please allow me to present Admiral Kathryn Janeway and – I know you’re holding your breath, Flyboy, let’s see if that one’s even in the book,” the door swooshes open while I grin at Tom, “Lea Kes Janeway.”

The room explodes. 

It’s the only Baby Janeway pool to go without a winner, Tom tells me, a few days later.


End file.
